


Hector's Boys

by scribe-tuesday (Leofuller)



Series: Back Up There [14]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Not the NHL
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2018-12-17 18:40:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 46
Words: 130,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11857386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leofuller/pseuds/scribe-tuesday
Summary: The Huskies never give up.A soap opera of British Hockey.





	1. Jo Zhang

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't RPF. This is a fictional version of a real league - but none of these teams are real. None of the guys are real.  
> This is hockey a long way from the NHL.
> 
> This is not a WIP - the story is complete and new chapters will be posted at least twice a week.

It's a few minutes past four on an otherwise unremarkable Wednesday when the email appears in Jo’s inbox. She's projecting, obviously, because it's a piece of electronic correspondence and it can't _really_ sidle into the inbox with an overly contrived innocent air, but it's from Stan and the subject line reads **_catch-up soon?_ ** which immediately makes her wary.

They had a catch-up yesterday, and they're scheduled to catch up again next Tuesday, and every Tuesday until Stan finally accepts that he retired nearly ten years ago.

If he wants to “catch up” again, he's up to something.

 

Jo’s been his business manager for eight years and working for him in some capacity for fifteen, and she knows only too well that Stan only appears to be casual when he's got some kind of scheme cooking.

He's been an ongoing source of trouble ever since he retired, as evidenced by the need to hire a business manager eighteen months _after_ he stepped back from running the family business, and his decision to move back to the UK to supervise the property he’d inherited from his brother has not so far turned out to be the relaxing step he'd claimed it would be.

He's an ongoing source of trouble, and Jo wouldn't have him any other way.

 

It's nine pm in the UK now, so Jo just pings him a message back that says **_what are you up to?_ ** and sets up a Skype meeting for first thing in the morning.

Stan’s still online, and he responds with a link and the question **_how quickly can I free up some funds?_ **

Jo clicks the link with some trepidation. It takes her to the website of what is probably Stan’s local newspaper.

Jo reads the article twice before she shouts for her assistant.

“Casey?”

“Yes Jo.” Casey appears immediately from his desk just outside the open doorway to her office, which makes him look very efficient but probably means he was just texting his boyfriend and feels guilty.

“Can you get me some flight options to London for tomorrow evening? Get something on hold for me?”

“Sure.” Casey doesn't try to pretend that he's not desperate to know why. “Stan?”

“Stan.” She confirms, clicking through her calendar. “And can you clear my schedule for the next week, please.”

“What's he up to?”

Jo motions for him to come and look at her screen, clicking back to the article about a minor UK hockey team that's about to go under.

Casey scans it quickly. “I'm going to guess that that's the team he used to play for back in the sixties?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And he wants to buy them?”

“Mm.”

Casey looks at her, his expression a mixture of sympathy for Jo and awe at Stan’s chutzpah.

“Good luck!”

“I'm going to try to talk him out of it tomorrow morning.”

“I'll get on with finding those flights.” Casey’s as realistic as Jo is about her ability to sway Stan over Skype, then. “Will a week be enough?”

 

*

 

Jo had been in her new job for three weeks when she first met Mr Harfield in 2001. He’d been visiting the Lethbridge site since she started.

“You’ll like Mr H.” Roger was head of the accounting department, and Jo’s boss. “He’s not from here originally either.”

Roger was also a old-fashioned racist, from the generation who didn’t mean any harm but had no idea just how rude they sounded.

Jo had been born in Toronto. She was more of a local than Roger, who was from Winnipeg, but there was no point in repeating it. He wouldn’t have listened, and at twenty-three Jo wasn’t going to pick a battle with her boss.

Stanley Harfield looked like a Canadian until he opened his mouth, but people like Roger assumed that Jo was foreign until she opened hers.

 

“Stan!” Roger greeted Mr Harfield enthusiastically. Man to man. Jo’s heart sank, just a little. “Welcome back.”

“Good to be home.” Mr Harfield accepted Roger’s handshake, and smiled at Jo. “Hello, I don’t think we’ve met?”

“This is Joanna Zhang.” Roger made the introduction as Jo stood up. “Joanna joined the team a few weeks ago.”

“Nice to meet you, Joanna.” Mr Harfield shook her hand.

“Jo. It’s nice to meet you too, Mr Harfield.”

“Jo.” He repeated, with a spark in his eye that suggested he found Roger as ridiculous as she did. “Please, call me Stan.”

 

*

 

Stan had a tradition of taking new employees out for coffee, when he got the chance. Even years after he’d officially handed over the running of the company to his nephew, he would still turn up in the Toronto office from time to time, find somebody he didn’t know, and insist that their manager let them join him in whatever his favourite cafe was that week.

Back in 2001, Jo’s first coffee with Stan had started with small talk, included a condensed history of Stan’s life, and descended rapidly into a heated debate about the Leafs. It’s hardly unusual for non-Canadians living in Toronto to be hockey fans, and by his own account Stan had been in Canada since the sixties, but it was a bit of a surprise to find that he’d been into hockey long before he even thought of leaving England.

“I know, nobody expects the English guy to play hockey.” Stan had grinned at her over his coffee cup, and Jo hadn’t said that she struggled to think of any man of Stan’s age having once been a hockey player.

“And you chose Shipping and Logistics over hockey?”

Stan laughed. “Not exactly. English hockey wasn’t ever going to get me anywhere, and just when I was thinking of giving it up and getting a proper job, a chap I knew was looking for somebody to help him out coaching a minor league team in Ontario, and I thought, why not? Go for a season, have a bit of an adventure.” His grin said that it turned out to be more of an adventure than he could ever have imagined. “And then I fell in love, and when the coaching work came to an end her father found me a job, and I’m still here today!”

The job that Petersen Senior found for Stan may have been dealing with mail and filling out order forms, but Stan had gone on to not only marry Petersen’s daughter but to share the running of the expanding company with Petersen’s son. Petersen Junior had retired a few years before Jo started working for them, but it had always been the intention that his son would take over from Stan one day and Petersen’s was still a family firm. Stan and his wife had a very nice house in one of the more expensive parts of town, and Stan had come a long way from the young man with no money who’d fallen in love with Valerie Petersen and with Canada.

 

*

 

Jo’s office is in the building that Petersen’s occupies in Toronto, but she works directly for Stan and not for his nephew. Stan’s always had his fingers in a lot of pies, in his own words, and when he retired from an active role in the day to day running of the company he kept his position on the board. Other men of his generation have hobbies to keep their time busy, golf, bridge, gardening, but Stan’s interests all require some investment and most of them return some kind of income. Jo’s job is to keep track of them all, and ostensibly to keep Stan himself in check. As if that was possible.

Stan’s so much more than the boss, now. He’s a businessman with a flair for acquisitions and expansions, but he’s also her friend. He's the guy who takes the time to get to know all of his employees, the guy who often sat on the floor under the conference table in the boardroom to play Lego with his great-nephews. Stan’s happiest when he’s busy and when he’s surrounded by people. He’s got far more energy than most men of his age, and he cares.

 

He tried to retire, or at least he claims he did. Stan and Valerie sold their big house, bought a smart apartment that didn’t need a lot of upkeep, and went on all the holidays they’d been planning for years.

Jo sometimes has a flash of nostalgia for the months that Stan spent cruising around the Caribbean with Valerie, checking in on his business interests by email and generally letting her get on with her job.

 

Two weeks after Valerie died, Stan walked into Jo’s office and demanded something to do.

Jo was recruiting for a new admin assistant at the time, so she’d taken one look at the wrinkled shirt under his immaculate suit and given him a stack of filing to do.

Stan doesn’t talk about it much, but he said to her once how much he appreciated that Jo was the only person who didn’t try to get him to sit down and take it easy with half of his heart ripped away.

It took a month of administrative tasks - a month in which Jo tested potential new staff by getting them to tidy up behind Stan as unobtrusively as possible - before Stan started to sound a bit more like himself, and six months after Valerie’s funeral he installed himself in the visitor’s chair next to Jo’s desk and asked which of his business projects needed his attention the most.

 

Jo’s never felt entirely comfortable with what Stan’s always called _The Hall_. It’s an eighteenth-century manor house in the English countryside, and it’s the only real evidence that Stan’s official rags-to-riches story isn’t quite what it seems. His parents may have had to shut up most of the house in the fifties due to the costs of running the place, and Stan’s older brother Arthur might have had to sell off large chunks of the grounds to property developers in the seventies, but the fact is that Stan’s family used to have money, a lot of it, and there’s a sixteen-bedroom house to say so.

By the time Arthur Harfield died, five years ago, the Hall was being run as a specialist venue for hire. They hosted weddings, house parties, conferences and the like. Arthur himself was living in a care home, and his godson was living in the gatehouse with his own family and running the business.

Stan’s childhood home is so big that it has an extra four-bedroom house in the grounds.

Generally the Hall runs itself, Arthur’s arrangements still working well enough that Jo just keeps an eye on the books and doesn’t need to interfere, but Arthur’s godson had just announced his intention to leave the running of the Hall in the hands of his younger daughter and head out to New Zealand with his wife to support their older daughter during a difficult pregnancy. The business isn’t turning much profit, a sign of the market rather than poor management, but if Stan wanted a change and a challenge then looking after his ancestral home with the assistance of his brother’s godson’s younger daughter could be just what he needed.

 

*

 

That was three months ago, and Stan’s been back in the UK for six weeks. So far he’s made no changes to the business, and he says that his great-god-niece, as he likes to call her, has failed to poison him despite her best attempts.

Jo takes this to mean that Leah’s not much of a cook.

 

Jo’s flight lands just before seven in the evening. The lines at passport control are endless, and the drive up to the northern end of Oxfordshire takes longer than the hour and twenty minutes that google maps had claimed. Jo’s driver seems to think this is entirely normal traffic for a Friday evening.

 

The hotel is close to the Hall, and the app on her phone promises a fifteen minute walk, so Jo packs up her laptop after breakfast and steps out into the late spring sunshine.

It is a fifteen minute walk, but the app failed to warn her that it was mostly uphill, so Jo’s a little out of breath when she reaches the gates set in the high stone wall that runs around what’s left of the property. The wall and the trees have kept the Hall itself hidden from view, and now that it’s suddenly spread out in front of her it takes away what’s left of her breath.

The architect had intended the building to be viewed first from the gates, standing symmetrical at the top of the driveway, lawns stretching out to either side. It’s one thing to go through the books and cast a critical eye over the website, it’s something else again to see three solid storeys spread in front of her.

“Morning, Jo!” The gatehouse stands to the left of the driveway, just inside the gates, and Stan’s opened the front door. “Come in and have cup of tea.”

 

Stan’s not using his walking stick today, and his steps are clear as he leads Jo into the house.

“I thought we could chat in here,” he gestures to what’s obviously the dining room, “but first, let me make you some tea.”

“Leave that with me, Uncle Stan.” This must be Leah. “You go on and sit down.”

Jo’s half expecting Stan to reprimand that he’s perfectly capable of doing it himself, but instead he just smiles. “That’s very kind of you, Leah. Oh, where are my manners? Jo, this is my great-god-niece, Leah. Leah, this is Jo, who keeps me on the straight and narrow.”

“Nice to meet you.” Jo’s Canadian. Leah’s British. They shake hands.

“Tea or coffee?” Leah offers.

“Coffee, please, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all.”

 

Jo hasn’t given much thought to Stan’s great-god-niece. They’ve been paying her family to manage the Hall for years, and Jo’s read Leah’s CV so she knows that she’s 24, she’s got a degree in business management and she’s only ever worked with her family. Beyond that, however, she’d barely considered her beyond wondering if Stan’s arrival in the UK would cause ructions. Leah’s gone from finding herself in sole charge of the family business to having the ostensibly-retired owner of said business watching over her shoulder. It would be understandable if she was angry about it, especially as Stan’s living in her home and she’s stuck with a houseguest as well as a supervisor.

So far, however, everything seems to be okay. At the very least, Leah’s an ally in the battle to stop Stan from inflicting his particularly-undrinkable tea and coffee on unsuspecting visitors.

Stan’s already admitted over Skype that apart from reading over the books and chatting to Leah, he hasn’t actually involved himself in the running of the Hall in the weeks since he got here. Either Leah’s made an incredible impression in that short time, or Stan’s actually starting to feel his age.

“How was your flight?” Stan settles into a chair as Jo puts her bag down. “How’s the hotel?”

“Both fine.” Jo leaves her laptop where it is, for the moment.

“I expect you had plenty of time to put together all of the reasons why I shouldn’t try to buy the team?”

“I did.” They’re good reasons, starting and ending with the finances.

“And?”

“Why don’t you tell me why you want to buy it?”

Stan squares his shoulders. “Because the Huskies are my team. I was a fan growing up, I played for them, and without them I would never have found myself in Canada.”

He stops when Leah comes in with a tray.

“I’m going up to the Hall for a bit.” She informs them, as she sets out the cups. “We’ve got a wedding show-round this afternoon and I need to check that the ballroom’s set up properly.”

“Okay.” Stan smiles at her. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“No problem.” She catches Jo’s eye, and they share a flash of understanding.

“So.” Stan picks up the conversation as Leah’s footsteps fade down the hallway. “Can I afford to buy the team?”

“Yes.” Jo stirs milk into her coffee and makes her answer as direct as possible. “You can afford to buy them. The problem is finding the money to run them. You can free up the funds to buy the license for the team pretty easily, but you need to pay the players, you need to pay for ice time, you need equipment and insurance and all sorts of other things.” She puts the spoon down and reaches into her bag for her laptop. “I’ve been through the finance sheets, and the reason they’re struggling is because the ticket sales and sponsorship just don’t cover the outgoings.”

“So, it’s a bad investment?”

“Probably.” Jo admits. “With the right management, and enough time - a couple of years at least - it might be possible to turn it around, but you need to have the money for the running costs for a couple of years at least because it won’t pay for itself.”

Stan looks surprised, as if he’d expected her to be a lot more negative, and then thoughtful.

“Can I find the money?”

“You’d have to sell some of your other business concerns. It might take some time to get the money, but yes. On paper, you have enough money, it’s just all tied up elsewhere.” The laptop finishes booting up, and Jo opens the spreadsheets she’d put together on the plane.

“What do I need to do?”

“You’re pretty sure about this.” It’s not a question. Jo’s not sure if she’s ever seen him so invested in a potential project, even at Petersen’s.

“I am.” Stan looks her right in the eye. “I want to know if I really could save this team.”

“You could lose a lot of money.”

Stan shrugs. “I can't take it with me.”

 

*

 

The following morning sees them gathered back around the dining table. Jo spent Saturday afternoon working on the numbers, looking at exactly what they need to do to free up the funds that Stan’s going to need in order to run this team. Stan took her out to dinner, and then Jo spent a worrying evening looking at youtube footage of this team that Stan wants to buy.

The business half of Jo is screaming in horror at just how hopeless they seem to be. They had a hot streak in the first third of the last season, and then it all fell apart again. Based on the forums that she kind of wishes she hadn’t read, everybody was surprised to see them win anything and their return to the bottom of the table was expected and considered to be their natural place.

The hockey fan in Jo desperately wants this chance to take a struggling team and make it better.

She’s a Leafs fan, after all.

 

Leah joins them, at Stan’s request. She looks nervous, and it suddenly occurs to Jo that Leah probably thinks that they’re going to talk about the way the Hall is struggling to get bookings.

Luckily Stan launches straight in, while Leah’s still pulling up a chair.

“How much do you know about ice hockey?”

“Not much?” Leah looks confused. “I know we’ve got a team, but really only because the _Post Gazette_ comes through the door every week and the back page is usually about how badly they’ve lost that weekend.”

Jo can’t help a little laugh. Stan shoots her an amused look before he continues.

“Did you know they’re going bust?”

“Uh… I think I saw something about that. Why, are you thinking of bailing them out?”

Leah’s joking, and the moment stretches out as Jo can see the penny drop.

“Really?”

“Yes.” Stan grins. “Yes, we are.” Jo meets his eyes again, and is surprised to find how much that _we_ is right. She feels like a part of this.

“Okay…” Leah still looks a little confused. “Um. You’re not planning to sell the Hall to pay for it, are you?”

“No, no!” Stan’s quick to reassure her. “We might make some changes but we’re not selling the place!”

Jo had looked at it, considering all the options, but Stan’s got other assets that will be easier to shift.

“We’ve just asked you in for an extra viewpoint.”

“Okay.” There’s a subtle shift in Leah’s posture, an almost imperceptible change from the youngest family member to the manager of the Hall.

“Because clearly the way they’ve run things so far isn’t working.” Jo pulls up a blank document on her laptop. “And if we’re going to take over - bearing in mind that we haven’t actually spoken to anybody about this, officially or otherwise - then we need a plan to keep the team afloat.”

 

“So.” Half an hour later, Jo’s got a list of the things they need to consider. “We’ve got a team that’s struggling on the ice for two reasons. One, they don’t have the best players in the league, because they can’t afford to pay them. And two, those players that they have got aren’t as committed to the team as they need to be, because they have other obligations which they have to put first, like the jobs that actually pay them a living wage, so there’s not the consistency in training and game play that the team needs.”

“So, we need to find a way to pay them enough that they can make the team a priority.”

“And then, off the ice, we need to look at all the other things that have to be paid for. Ice time, equipment, housing, publicity.” Jo’s been a little shocked by just how little the teams here provide for their players. Almost no medical support, no media training. They don’t even have private gym facilities for off-ice workouts - and as far as she can tell, that’s not unique to this team.

“Can I see those figures again? The outgoings for last season?” Leah looks up from her own laptop with a frown, focused like she's not fully in the room with them.

“Sure.” Jo twists her laptop so Leah can see the screen better.

“Cheers.” Leah reaches for the mousepad and scrolls through, obviously looking for something.

“So.” Stan picks up the thread. “We're kind of stuck? We can't control the price of ice time or housing, we can't really pay the players any less than we do now-”

Jo snorts. At least a quarter of the roster aren't being paid at all.

“-and we can't put ticket prices up because the last thing we want to do is drive away the few fans they have got. So pretty much all we can do is throw money at it and hope we can get ticket sales and sponsorship up as we go…”

“Um.” Leah compares the data on Jo’s laptop to whatever she's got on her own screen. “So, this sounds crazy…”

She glances up to see if they're listening.

“Just hear me out on this, I'm still working it through, but…” she checks the screen again. “Right. It's just that... the running costs of the Hall over the last year are slightly less than they spent on housing for the players last year. Rent, insurance, utilities, if you add them all up they're just under what it costs us for maintenance and utilities on the Hall.” She looks up at them again, and although Jo’s getting an inkling of where this might be going, she keeps her face neutral. “And the Hall’s really only breaking even at the moment, unless we get a rush of bookings for the second half of the year, it's not looking good.”

“So, you think we could…” Stan’s brow wrinkles as he catches on.

“Use the Hall to house the team.” Leah sits up straight, getting more animated. “If we're going to make a loss on the current business model for both the Hall and the Huskies, we can rent the Hall to the team without increasing their housing costs. And we can probably find a way to combine some of the other costs.”

“Invest in a decent gym set up.” Stan jumps in. “Save on fees.”

“Which they're not currently paying.” Jo points out.

“But they should be!” Stan’s on board now. “We've said that they need to be more committed to the team, well, if we invest in the players they can focus more on their hockey. Get the right fitness equipment, the right nutrition, make it a setup that the players can really benefit from!”

“How's that going to work, though?” Stan's reference to nutrition sets Jo thinking. “Logistically. Are we really suggesting putting twenty guys in a house and expecting them to look after it and themselves?”

“No, no, we’d have to manage it.” Stan breezes on as if that was obvious. “We’d have to make sure we're looking after the fabric of the place.”

“Cleaning, gardening and so on are included in the regular running costs.” Leah chips in.

“What do you reckon, then?” Stan looks at Leah. “Do you want to manage a hockey team?”

“What?”

“You're the obvious choice to look after the place. Make sure they don't destroy the place, that it's clean and they're fed, fix problems.”

Leah blinks at him. “I can't feed them.”

Stan pauses, and clearly decides to be discreet. “We'll get somebody in to do that. It'll be a full time job anyway.”

Jo tries to make sense of what they're suggesting. “So, you're actually saying that you want to house all these hockey players in the hope that they become a better team and start to actually earn you some money?”

Stan and Leah look at each other. The spark of excitement in Leah’s eyes matches Stan’s and Jo’s heart sinks a little at the thought of trying to wrangle two of them. Stan’s already admitted that he's prepared to risk losing money on this venture. Leah personally has got nothing to lose.

They both answer at the same time.

“Yes.”

 

It’s not quite that simple, but as they hash out the details Jo can see a real - if unorthodox - business plan forming.

They'll replace the current housing bill with the cost of putting all the guys up in the Hall. The current salary deductions that cover rent for those of the guys who use the team housing can be increased if all meals are included. They'll install a decent fitness suite - capital expenditure rather than running costs - and provide suitable food so that they can shape the current team into contenders. Leah can run the house, and they'll add a chef to the current staff who handle cleaning and maintenance.

They're going to need a manager for the hockey side of things, but Stan’s own knowledge together with the current coach should get them through.

It's crazy, but it just might work.

 

Jo drafts an email to the firm who are handling the sale.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whether you're reading along as this is posted, or whether you waited for it to be complete first, please feel free to comment as you go - your reactions and speculations are what make this for me (and also, I love it when you recognise characters from other stories in the series...)


	2. Jamie Garcia

Maisie stands in the doorway to the sun room and surveys Jamie’s small pile of boxes with her hands on her hips.

“More smelly boy things.” She wrinkles her nose, even though Jamie’s sure that his things don’t smell. All of his clothes are clean, he made sure of that during the week when he still thought he might be living out of his car for the summer, and his hockey gear is all still down at the rink.

Hopefully it can stay there. Max said that he wanted to re-sign Jamie, but now that the team’s going bust and maybe being bailed out by this Canadian businessman, Jamie’s not really sure what’s happening. There really isn’t room to put his kit in here as well.

The sun room is just about big enough for the two-seater sofa bed to be unfolded. There’s a chest of drawers, which Jamie is pretty sure wasn’t here when Scott had the team over for drinks a couple of weeks ago, and a bookshelf that’s been emptied out. Jamie will just about have room to walk around the bed, when it’s made up, but he’s clearly going to have to fold it up in the mornings if he’s got any hope of functioning.

He’s incredibly grateful to be here.

“My things don’t smell!”

Maisie rolls her eyes with all the disdain a seven year old with two older brothers can bring. “You’re a boy, so you smell.” She delivers this verdict with utter certainty, and Jamie finds himself unable to argue.

 

There isn’t really room in the Howards’ three bedroom house for Jamie. The house is constantly jumping with comings and goings and the inevitable squabbling between Maisie and the twins. Every corner seems to be packed with hockey paraphernalia, mini sticks in the dining room, Maisie’s helmet on the windowsill by the front door, the twins’ bags stacked in the porch. At least Scott’s gear is still at the rink with Jamie’s.

Felicity is superhuman to handle it all. Every single person on the team agrees on that.

There isn’t really room for Jamie, but as soon as Scott got a sniff of the situation, as soon as he realised that Jamie had nowhere to go when he had to leave team housing at the end of the month, there was an offer of their sofa bed with the clear unspoken message that Jamie would not be allowed to turn it down unless he could prove that he had somewhere to live.

Jamie’s stepdad made it perfectly clear that there’s no room for Jamie to come back for the summer, and Jamie’s mum didn’t say anything at all. He’s got a part time job, working in the sales office at the leisure centre, but it doesn’t pay enough to cover living expenses and they can’t give him any more hours at the moment. He doesn’t have enough in his savings to put down a deposit anywhere, anyway, and nobody wants to rent for just a few months. Scott’s offer is genuine, and it’s Jamie’s only option.

 

The twins adopted Jamie the first time Scott introduced him. The Under 13s have the ice just before the Huskies, on Tuesdays, so Scott watches Toby and Lewis practice and then they watch him. Jamie could never remember, even later in the season, whether Huskies training was at seven on Tuesdays and seven thirty on Thursdays or the other way around, so when he was new to the team he’d get there just after half past six just to be on the safe side. He was usually there for the later part of the Under 13s training, since Tuesday’s Huskies training wasn’t actually until seven thirty, and it was more interesting to lean on the boards with Scott and comment on how the kids were doing than it was to sit in the locker room by himself and wait.

Kids are easier to talk to than adults. They don’t hide their opinions for the sake of being polite. Jamie knows where he stands, with kids.

Toby and Lewis are almost but not completely identical. At least when they’re in their gear they’re labelled for easy reference. They’d started out impressed that their father’s teammate had time to hang out and talk to them, especially when the coach was quick to drag him on to the ice to help with shooting practice, and now they act like they have some kind of proprietary rights over him.

Scott jokes that he’s not sure whether he’s supposed to class Jamie as his oldest son or his little brother.

At least, Jamie thinks he’s joking.

It's nice though. His own family are too far away to want to come over just to spend time with him. It's only a ninety minute drive but with two small kids it's a lot of effort, Mum says. Jamie's got used to being an honorary member of the Howard family, even if moving in with them was a step he hadn’t expected.

 

*

 

Jamie works from nine til three on Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays, and he gets to use the gym on site for free during off-peak hours.

Scott and Felicity won’t let him pay much rent, it’s really only a contribution that covers what he eats, and so he’s happily thrown himself into the family’s routines. Both Scott and Felicity have full time jobs, in addition to Scott’s hockey commitments, and Jamie finds himself doing the school run and supervising homework.

There’s no official training any more, as the season’s over, but the guys who are still in the area get a bit of ice time now and then. At the moment, they’re spending as much time speculating about the future of the team as they are actually skating.

The article in the _Post_ about the team going under was followed by something vague about a possible buy-out, and now it’s all gone quiet. Max and William haven’t been down to their informal training sessions, so they can’t dig for information.

 

“I just hate not knowing.” It’s at least the third time Ross has said this, but they’re all thinking it. It must be harder for him, though. Jamie’s already away from his family, and a lot of teams can find a spot for a third-line winger, but even if Ross can get a starting netminder position with another team he’d face leaving his family behind.

Maybe it wouldn’t be untrue to say that Ross might benefit from not living with his father, and maybe it wouldn’t be unfair to suggest that he could stand on his own feet for a change, but it wouldn’t be very _nice,_  either.

“Well, hopefully this meeting tomorrow night will sort some things out.” Scott leans over the boards to wedge his water bottle onto the shelf. “At least confirm if we’re even going to _have_ a team next season.”

And that’s what nobody wants to voice, the fear that the Huskies might simply not be there in September. Whoever buys the team, it’s got to be better than going under.

“Do you know who’s going to be there?”

“Not for sure.” Scott pulls his gloves back on. “Max will be there, and I guess somebody from the new owner? I don’t think it’s open, though, I mean the press won’t be there, or the fans.”

 _The Press_ sounds so much more impressive than _Barry from the Post Gazette._ Nobody else cares about the Huskies, and to be honest the _Post_ only covers them because Barry likes hockey and would come to all the games and write about it even if they didn’t publish it, and it saves them from having to fill half of the back page with coverage of the pub league football games. Generally the sports section gets split between the Huskies and the Wanderers, who bump along at the bottom of the National League and don’t win many more football games than the Huskies do hockey matches. At least in the summer Barry gets to write about cricket instead.

The Huskies refer to Barry as _The Press_ or _Media_ , just because it amuses them. Somebody printed him out a Huskies press pass, ID number 00001, as if he wasn’t known to every member of staff at the rink.

Scott pushes away from the boards and goes back to the informal drills they’re running. He’s putting a brave face on things, but Jamie’s overheard him talking to Felicity, and they’re worried. If Scott can’t keep playing for the Huskies, either he signs somewhere else and has a long commute to training or the prospect of uprooting his family yet again, or he has to retire.

Jamie might not have a real family here, or a proper home, or a job that he actually likes, but at least if he does have to move away it's less to leave behind.

 

*

 

The meeting is at eight o’clock, in the upstairs room at the _Rose And Thorns_. Jamie and Scott walk down so that they can both have a couple of beers if they need them, for celebration or commiseration.

They're the first to arrive, Scott's punctuality overriding Jamie's inability to remember what time he's supposed to be anywhere. Max ropes them in to help move the tables around.

It all looks a bit more serious, with a top table and rows of chairs.

 

There are a couple of women there that Jamie doesn't recognise, and from the glances he casts at Scott, it doesn't look like Scott knows them either. The older lady looks like she does this all the time, setting up a laptop on the top table and sorting out a stack of printed pages.

Jamie ends up going down to the bar with the younger woman. They share a tray, which he carries back up the stairs, and when she thanks him he can feel himself blushing. One good thing about inheriting his father's skin tone, at least it's less obvious than it would be if he was fair. Or ginger.

“I'm Leah, by the way.” She says, as he puts the tray down and she starts passing the glasses out.

“Jamie.”

She thinks for a second. “Garcia?”

“Yeah.”

“I've got so many names to learn!” Her expression says that this is going to be a challenge, and Jamie can't help smiling back.

Another guy has arrived while they were downstairs. He's much older, and Scott's sitting with him looking like he can't quite believe what's happening.

“Jamie! Jamie, come and meet Stan.”

Jamie does as he's told, taking Scott's beer with him.

“Jamie, this is Stan Harfield! He played for the Huskies back in the sixties!”

There are a series of photos, in the bar at the rink, black and white team photos with trophy after trophy. Once, a very long time ago, the Huskies had been a good team. Jamie doesn't recognise the name, but he's obviously supposed to. “Nice to meet you!”

Stan Harfield shakes his hand with a twinkle in his eye that says he knows full well that Jamie hasn't got a clue who he is. “Likewise!”

“Stan, are you going to come and sit up here?” The older woman is American, or possibly Canadian, which throws Jamie because he’d automatically expected her to either be British or sound like she was from China or Singapore or somewhere like that.  It shouldn't surprise him, he shouldn't jump to these conclusions. There's not a hint of his father's heritage in his own accent, after all.

“In a minute. I'm mingling.” Stan winks at Jamie. “Jo, come and meet some players.”

Jo’s very pleasant, when Stan introduces them, but Jamie gets the impression that she's more about the business side of things. He can't quite figure out what the deal is, one elderly former player, one crisp businesswoman, and Leah who appears to just be here for the ride.

 

“Thank you for coming along tonight.” It's Max who launches the meeting, once everybody's arrived.

About half of last year's team are here. As well as Scott and Jamie, there’s Max, of course, as player-coach, and William as captain. Ifan’s driven over from Pontypridd, Vince and Tiny have made the effort to get here, and both of the goalies are local anyway. Jonny’s holding a Coke and looking mournfully at Jamie's beer, as he's still not old enough to drink, and Ross is sitting on the end of the row, looking tense. For once he's here without his father, as the fundraising team aren't included tonight and so Colin's not here to try and take over.

Petr’s back in the Czech Republic, so nobody would expect him to show up tonight. Fish and Tucks are on holiday, although not together, and that's it. Everybody else from last year has signed somewhere else already.

“First of all, I want to reassure you that the Huskies will play next season.” There's a murmur of relief from the guys. “And you're here tonight to hear a bit more about what this means, for the team and for you guys, because you're either signed up for next year or we're still in negotiations. There are going to have to be some changes to contracts, because your old contracts are with a company that doesn't exist any more, but we'll be meeting over the next couple of weeks to hash out the details.”

Jamie's not sure if that sounds like a good thing or not. He glances around, and it doesn't look like the other guys know either.

“So I'm going to hand over straight away to a man some of you may know by name. Stan Harfield used to be a Husky, back in the glory days, and we are very very grateful that he's come forward now to save the team.”

There's a slightly awkward round of applause as Max sits down.

Stan grins at them. “I'm not going to stand up. And I'd like to start by saying that although it's been nearly fifty years since I last wore a Huskies jersey on the ice, I'm still a Husky. I haven't played for anybody else since, so I think that counts?”

There's a little bit of laughter and the guys relax a fraction. Whoever this guy is, he's one of them, in a way.

“So, I'll start with a little bit about myself. My name, as Max just mentioned, is Stan Harfield. I was born in this very town in 1941, and I played for the Huskies from 1962 to 1967. At the end of the ‘67 season, I was facing up to getting a proper job when I was offered a season’s coaching job in Ontario. I moved to Canada in July 1967 with the intention of staying for one year, possibly two, and I moved back here two months ago.” He pulls a wry face and they laugh on cue. “To make a very long story as short as possible, I've spent fifty years making money and now I've come home to spend it.”

They clap for that.

“Now, I'd like to introduce a couple of people who are here to stop this old man from doing anything silly.”

Privately, Jamie suspects that Stan is far more astute than he's letting on. _This old man_ knows exactly what he's doing.

“Jo Zhang is my business manager. She's helping me redirect the funds that we need to make this team a success. Be nice to her, she's in charge of the money. Leah is my-”

Stan stops and looks at Leah, as if to say _how do you want to explain this?_

“Niece? Sort of?”

“Leah is sort of my niece.” Stan continues, and Jamie kind of wants to know why _sort of,_  even though it's clearly not relevant. “She's your new manager.”

The ripple in the room is less certain this time. Leah can't be more than about twenty five, and nothing about her screams _hockey._

“So I'm going to get straight on and explain what we're going to do to make saving this team possible.” Stan draws their attention back. “As I'm sure you're well aware after the past couple of years, running a hockey team takes a lot of money. Now, while I have got a lot of money, most of it is currently busy doing other things, so it's going to take a little while to get the funds redirected. We have got the money to support this team, but we don't have all of it right away.” Stan’s gradually drifting away from the twinkling grandad he's been portraying to the businessman Jamie suspected was underneath. “And Jo’s going to tell you a bit about it.”

Jo Zhang is clearly used to speaking in meetings, and used to speaking to groups of people who might not want to listen to what she has to say. She gets straight to the point without introducing herself any further than Stan already has.

“As of yesterday, the license for the Huskies was transferred to Harfield Holdings, and Stan is the team’s owner. Any debt currently owed by the team will be negotiated with the creditors and settled.” She's not referring to any notes, looking around the room and meeting their eyes. “We have the funds ready to pay for the ice time for training and games, for the equipment you need to start the season, and we are committed to the bus hire to get you to away games for the whole season. These costs will be met, in full, and are not reliant on ticket sales or sponsorship packages.”

There's a sense of relief going through the room, but Jamie can't help feeling like there's a _but_ coming.

“The other big cost we have is salaries and housing.” Jo continues, and Jamie knows that the other shoe is about to drop. “Now, as you know, the team does not have a good credit record in this town, and nobody wants to give us a fair price on decent housing because they've struggled to get money out of previous owners.”

Jamie thinks of the damp patch that spread across his bedroom wall last winter.

“So we've got a rather unorthodox solution. It might not suit everybody, but it's all we have to offer at the moment.”

It feels like Jamie's not the only one holding his breath as Jo looks to Stan to take over.

“Some of you, those of you who've lived here longer, might know the name Harfield from something other than the list of names in the rink bar.”

Jamie doesn't recognise the name, but Ross and Jonny are looking at each other and there's a penny dropping for them at least.

“I was born in this town, and I was born in Harfield Hall.”

Jamie suddenly puts it together. Harfield Hall is the big building on the top edge of the town, it's rented out for conferences and weddings and things.

“Harfield Hall was my brother's, until he died a few years ago, and now it's mine. It's also not making any money, despite the best efforts of Leah and her family, because people don't want to pay through the nose to borrow it any more.” Stan’s tone is light, no suggestion of how difficult business has probably been in recent years. “And so we're going to combine our two struggling businesses and head for one success. We're not going to rent any more housing from the local slum landlords.” It's an exaggeration, but not by much. “We can offer you somewhere to live, and it's going to be in the Hall itself.”

Jamie twists in his seat to see what the other guys think. Ross and Jonny don't need accommodation, they both still live with their parents, but Vince and Tiny both need team housing and Ifan looks impressed.

“I know it's not what you're used to. Normally the team will rent you somewhere cheap and leave you to get on with your lives, but that's not what we're going to be doing. We want to give you the tools you need to improve your game.”

Tiny snorts and Vince elbows him in the ribs. Stan looks momentarily confused, separated from the slang by the age difference more than his time overseas, and it's Leah who speaks up.

“Your game _on_ the ice. If you need help with any other kind of game, you'll have to work on that by yourselves.” She grins, but there's a note in her voice that suggests she's turned hungover stag parties out of the Hall and she's not phased by a couple of hockey players.

Stan laughs as he catches on. “We want to make sure you've got what you need to be the best hockey players you can be. Max can do what needs to be done in training and in putting the team together, but we want to support the rest of it. We will have the fitness equipment you need, on site at the Hall. We will take the worry out of making sure that you have a roof over your head, that the electricity bill is paid, and your meals are included.”

That gets a positive ripple. They all like eating.

“Which brings me to salaries.” Everybody looks back at Jo at that magic word. “Now, I know what you were supposed to be paid last year. I know that the Huskies were not able to offer competitive salaries. I know that you didn’t actually always get all of your money.” Jo clears her throat, and it’s the first time there’s been any hint of a nervous tic. “The actual value of your monthly salaries will be discussed with you individually, but I am going to say two things to you now. Firstly, that the funds may not be available immediately, and that you may not get much in the first couple of months. Second, that whatever salary we agree with you _will_ be paid. If we have to pay short in the first few months, you will get the back pay you are owed as soon as possible.”

Jamie feels cold at that. He just can’t afford not to be paid.

“And that’s another reason why the accommodation at the Hall is fully inclusive. Those of you who live in will not have to spend any money on meals, on utilities, on… laundry detergent. If we’re short paying, we’re also making sure that you’re not missing out.” Jo glances at her notes for the first time. “We’re going to meet with you one on one over the next week or so, and we’ll be discussing each of your individual circumstances, so if you can’t live in for any reason then we’ll talk through the options.”

Stan gets slowly to his feet, drawing their attention. “We want to make this work. We want all of you to get the chance to see the team that you’ve stuck with through the bad times be great again. And we’re hoping that you’re prepared to join us in doing whatever it takes to get there.”

 

*

 

Jamie and Scott don’t rush on the walk home, taking the time to absorb the evening’s information overload.

“Looks like you’ll be getting your sun room back after all!” Jamie tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket and looks over at Scott.

“Thank God for that!” Scott laughs, knocking his shoulder against Jamie’s. Jamie knows he doesn’t mean it.

The possibility of Jamie staying with the Howards all year had been brought up like it was a joke on more than one occasion, but underneath the teasing Jamie was certain that they meant it. If he needed it, he had a place to sleep - more than that, a home.

“What do you reckon, then?” Scott asks, after a few moments of silence. “Are they completely crazy?”

Jamie shrugs. “Probably. That doesn’t mean it’s not going to work, though, right?”

Scott looks at him and then smiles. “I guess so! Worth a shot, anyway?”

“Worth a shot.” Jamie agrees, letting the reality of what this evening’s news means sink in. “We still have a team!”

Scott’s smile widens. “We still have a team.”

 


	3. Ifan Evans

It feels like a fresh start, when Ifan points the Volvo towards the M4 and heads for England. He’s got all his gear in the car, two suitcases full of clothes, his laptop, the Playstation that the guys like to chirp him about because it’s so old (it’s a _classic_ ) but still all want to play on, and a box of his Mam’s cooking because she still thinks he’s going to starve even though there’s an actual _chef_ as part of this strange new deal they’ve got.

The divorce was finalised two weeks ago. Catrin walked out on him two years and four months ago, and he’s a free man as of the third of August.

 

He loves the summer. He loves being at home with his whole family back together, because the Evans boys all drift back to their mam when the hockey season ends, but there’s always an itch that’s ready to be scratched by the time that training begins again.

Ifan’s been back at Mam’s since the end of April, when team housing ended with nobody knowing if they even had a team to play for this season. Not that that made much of a difference to his summer plans, because he’d have been back in the bedroom that he used to share with Owen anyway, like last summer and the summer before. It just meant that he didn’t know where he was going in the autumn.

Dai’s been home too, across the hallway in what used to be Dai-and-Gethin’s room. He’s been gone a lot, spending half of his weekends back in Weybridge because he’s actually got a girlfriend who didn’t grow up within three streets of their childhood home.

Gethin and Mared come back up when the school holidays start and Mared’s finished teaching for the summer. Not that any of them can chirp her about the long summer holidays, since theirs are even longer. Gethin and Mared stay with Mared’s mam and dad, because they’ve got the room for two small kids.

Owen and Rhian live two streets down from Mam, in the cottage that used to belong to Dad’s parents.

Dai and Ifan can at least commiserate with each other that they still live with their mam when their oldest and youngest brothers managed to get married and grow up. It took a while, after Catrin left, for Ifan to be able to joke about being a failure, but he’s there now. He might be the one who couldn’t make his marriage work, but at least he’s not going out with an _English_ girl.

Ifan misses his family something fierce when he’s away during the season, but after three and a half months of helping Dai fix up the things in Mam’s house that Owen never seems to get round to in the winter, after a summer of being _Uncle Ifan_ to his brothers’ kids and all of Mared and Rhian’s nieces and nephews, it’s secretly a bit of a relief to cross the bridge and turn north on the M5.

He still sees a lot of his brothers during the season. He plays Dai and Gethin six times each, and they’re not that far apart really. Owen’s less predictable, as he goes where he gets sent, but although he does more lower league and junior games these days they do sometimes see him when they’re playing the Griffins.

Mam says she’s happy with the full set that she’s got, thank you, a forward, a defenseman, a goalie and a ref, even if it would be a lot easier if just _one_ of them had fulfilled their shared childhood dream of playing for the Cardiff Devils.

 

Ifan pulls in through the gates of Harfield Hall just after three pm, and pulls over for a moment to take a photo for Instagram, captioning it **_Home sweet home_**.

Owen and Rhian’s eldest is glued to her phone these days, and he hasn’t even restarted his engine before Bethan likes the photo and comments **_proper fancy now_**.

He moves his car round, following the driveway up past the front door to the old stableyard out the back, which has long since been turned into parking.

There’s a door flung open at the back of the house as Ifan gets out of the car, and Petr’s bouncing across the yard.

“Look you now!” He calls, in what he probably thinks is a Welsh accent. “Welcome home!”

 

Ifan was going to leave his stuff in the car, but Petr has other ideas.

“No, there are too many stairs. No extra trips.” He muscles past Ifan and opens the back of the car without asking, although at least he’s smart enough to actually look at what might be breakable before he picks anything up. _“Jan, přišli a pomohli!”_

A guy Ifan doesn’t recognise appears from the house.

“Hello.” His accent is much stronger than Petr’s. “I am Jan.”

“Ifan.” Ifan shakes the offered hand and smiles.

“Jan has signed with us this year.” Petr slings his arm around Jan’s shoulder and beams.

“Nice to meet you.” Ifan’s already enjoying being back in the perpetual sunshine that follows Petr around.

“Okay, luggages.” Petr releases Jan and turns his attention back to the car, taking out the box that holds the playstation and passing it to Jan so that he can get at the suitcases underneath. Ifan finds himself with his laptop bag over one shoulder and Mam’s food parcel in his arms, while Petr lifts the suitcases and says something in Czech that’s probably a comment on the weight, based on Jan’s laugh. “Leave the hockey gear for now.”

Ifan lets himself be swept indoors on a tide of Petr’s enthusiasm.

 

“Hi, Ifan!” Leah appears from the relative gloom of the hallway. “I see you’ve found our porter service!”

“I don’t have to tip, do I?”

Leah laughs “I don’t think anybody else has!”

“Um, where am I supposed to…?” Ifan looks towards the staircase, where Petr and his suitcases are disappearing.

“We’re letting you fight over the rooms. Max and William got first pick, but other than that it’s a free-for-all. Not everybody’s here yet, though, so you’ve got a good selection.” She looks towards the stairs. “Unless Petr’s already chosen one for you, in which case it’s out of my hands. Is he always this enthusiastic?”

Ifan thinks back over the past season of sunny smiles and the epic sulks that came after bad losses. “Mostly, yeah. Right, well, I’ll…” He gestures towards the stairs.

“Yeah, go on, before Petr unpacks for you!”

 

Petr, Jan, and Ifan’s belongings are gathered in the hallway at the top of the stairs. William’s leaning in the doorway of one of the rooms, which Ifan’s assuming is the one he’s chosen for himself, and Petr’s waving his arms as he explains something.

“ _Bore da.”_ William butchers the pronunciation _and_ gets the time of day wrong, but at least he’s trying.

“Captain.” Ifan goes for the hug, which William knows him well enough to expect. “So, what’s the deal with the rooms here? Where do I want to be?”

“Well. It depends what kind of view you want.” William gestures through the doorway he was blocking. “I’ve chosen a view of the yard.” Ifan steps forward, and beyond the mess in the room the windows look out onto the courtyard where he'd left his car.

“Or, if you prefer,” William turns him towards the room across the hall, “you can have a park view.” This room is uninhabited, and lacking the explosion of belongings that featured in William’s room. The view is spectacular, however, looking out over the driveway and parkland.

“I think I like this side best.”

“Have a poke around, see which room you want. There's still plenty of empty ones. The views get better as you go up but if you want your own bathroom you want to be on this floor.”

Ifan shared a house with William, Max and Vince last year, and with Fisher, Tucker and Tiny the year before that. He wants his own bathroom.

 

The winning room is at the end of the corridor. It's slightly smaller than the others he's seen, but it's a corner room with windows on two sides and it's a worthwhile trade, in Ifan’s opinion.

“Good choice!” Petr appears behind him with one of Ifan’s suitcases, trailed by Jan and William, who has apparently abandoned the explosion of belongings in his own room. “We have rooms at this end also!”

“Foreign players sticking together again.” William grins, and Petr slings his arm around Ifan’s shoulders again.

“Lineys!”

They were last year, anyway. Ifan puts his arm around Petr’s waist and grins back at William.

“Ifan isn’t English either.” Petr explains for Jan’s benefit.

Jan nods slowly, apparently taking Petr at face value. “One of us.”

 

Ifan empties his suitcases quickly, folding his clothes into drawers because he's not a slob like some people, William Walker, and he's just setting out some family photos when there's a commotion in the hallway and somebody runs towards the stairs. Petr, based on the accented shout of “beam me, Scotty!”

Which suggests that Scott’s just arrived.

“I didn't realise Scott was moving in?” William’s already in the hall when Ifan emerges.

“He's on dad duty.” William explains, as they follow Jan to the stairs. “Jamie's been staying with him.”

 

Jamie's perfectly capable of moving himself from one side of town to the other, but Scott’s grinning as he unloads boxes from the back of Jamie's unreliable Vauxhall.

“Practicing for when my kids are old enough to go to uni!” He calls when they emerge into the yard.

Jamie looks simultaneously embarrassed and touched.

Petr’s just grabbed a box when another vehicle pulls in. “New guy!” He crows, pushing the box onto Jan.

 

Ifan can't help smiling when the driver’s door opens and Helena Barnes steps out.

“Mrs B!”

“Hello, Evans!” She's always pretended that she can't tell Ifan and his brothers apart.

Maybe she can't. It's a long time since she coached their junior squad, after all.

“I didn't know you'd signed for us!”

Helena laughs. “I think my playing days are behind me! No, I'm just delivering a son.” She gestures vaguely at the lad climbing out of the passenger seat.

Ifan’s confident that she's definitely pretending when she claims not to be able to tell her own sons apart.

“Mark, right?” The kid played NIHL for the Hyenas last season, if Ifan's right. One of his brothers plays for the Jackalopes, he thinks, and the others are probably still in the Cardiff junior system.

“Nice to meet you.” Obviously Helena Barnes’ boy is going to be polite. Nobody would expect anything else.

“Rookie!” Petr practically elbows Ifan aside so he can get to Mark. “Petr Veselý.”

“Mark Barnes.” He takes Petr’s enthusiasm in his stride, which doesn't surprise Ifan. He doesn't really know Mark, but the Barnes family are even more hockey-focussed than Ifan's, and Mark will have grown up surrounded by hockey players.

“This is Ifan, and Jan, and…” Petr looks around. “Scotty and the captain.” He points to where Scott and William are disappearing into the house with some of Jamie's things. “And Jamie! Also just got here!”

Mark’s grinning at the onslaught of names. “Good to meet you all! It's Garcia, right?” He focuses on Jamie, who nods.

“Yeah, hi.”

“I'm so glad to finally be here!” Mark takes two steps towards Jamie.

“Heads up!” Helena’s got the back of the car open, and Mark catches the duffle bag that she's thrown without looking.

“How does the rooming work here, then? Have they been assigned or something?”

“No, is free choice!” Petr’s about to try to take over when Helena shoves a box into his arms.

“Come on then. Let's get in there before the good ones all go!” Mark sets off towards the house, and Jamie slings his own duffle bag over his shoulder, grabs a box from the pile that came out of his car, and follows in his wake.

Ifan grins. “New best friend?”

“Probably.” Helena hands him a plastic crate that's heavier than he was expecting. “He gets one everywhere he goes.” She pats his arm. “Chop chop, lots to do!”

Ifan’s only been away from his own mam for a few hours, it's habit to do as he's told.

 

There's a growing heap of assorted belongings in the spot at the top of the first flight of stairs that Petr seems to have designated as the holding space while room choices are made. Based on the the thumping sounds, Mark and Jamie are investigating the top floor.

“Jamie, come and see this!”

William sighs as he climbs the stairs with another box. “Firstly, I thought that the point of having the younger guys on the team was to make _them_ do all the heavy lifting.” He stacks the box, labelled _shoes_ , on top of the ones that are already there. “Second, I had hoped that sharing with kids who are only twenty-one would make me feel younger, not like I'm a hundred and fifty.”

Helena snorts. “You're what, twenty eight?”

“Twenty nine.”

“Yeah, not over the hill yet. BOYS!”

The thumping stops and Mark and Jamie both appear at the top of the next flight of stairs.

“Have you decided on rooms?”

“Yep!” Mark comes down a couple of steps. “They've got cool sloping ceilings and we've got a bathroom just for us two! Come and see!”

“Come down and grab a box then. You realise you've got the Captain and As carrying all your stuff and you're going to suffer at training?”

“Sorry, sorry!” Mark arrives at the bottom of the stairs so fast that Ifan almost thinks he's fallen. “Please don't carry any more, we've got it!”

Jamie follows at a slightly more reasonable speed, grinning at Ifan as he slides past and picks up the nearest boxes.

 

*

 

It feels like the house suddenly switches from half-empty to almost full. There are a few empty bedrooms, because not everybody's going to live in, but there's a team meeting at six and this year's squad are all together for the first time.

Max gathers them in the dining room, because it's big enough for everybody to sit together. Ifan can't help thinking that they look kind of out of place against the antique furniture.

 

“All right, settle down!” Max makes himself heard over the noise. “Thank you! Okay, well, welcome. I'm not going to talk at you for too long tonight, you get to listen to me talk about lines and strategies tomorrow, right now we're here to talk about the Hall, and living together, and the ground rules.”

There's a groan from the end of the table, where Tiny, Tucker and Fish have settled.

“Yeah, yeah.” Max cuts them off. “I know, you're all mature adult men who can be relied on to pull your weight and make living together an absolute pleasure.”

There's general laughter at how untrue that is.

“But, just in case, we are going to have to have some rules so that we don't have the whole team collapse into all out war by November because somebody keeps leaving their dirty dishes in the sink.” Max looks around to make sure that they're all paying attention. “And in case you're wondering why the non-resident guys are here, there will be team meals for everybody and anybody's welcome to hang out in the communal areas even if you don't live here. And now I'm going to let Leah be the bad cop and tell you what you can and can't do.”

“Yeah, thanks Max.” Leah stands up. “Drop me in it, why don't you? Right, guys, we're starting simple on the basis that this is your home and we'd like to think you'll be relatively grown up about living in it.”

There's more laughter.

“No?” Leah fights a smile. “Okay, seriously. There are twelve of you living here, so treat the Hall and each other with some basic respect. Don't leave your stuff lying around all over the place, keep the noise to a reasonable level. We've got cleaners, but they won't clean your rooms if they're a mess. We will ask you not to eat in your rooms, there are enough communal areas that you can find a corner to hide in if you're feeling antisocial. If you do take a mug or something upstairs, bring it back. You know, all the stuff your mum nagged you about.”

They laugh again at that, and Leah relaxes a fraction.

“Meals times will depend on when your games and training sessions are. Roberto will be talking to you more about that in a bit, and about what the arrangements are for eating between meals.” She pauses. “Roberto’s the chef. Maybe I should have said that. You'll be getting a tour shortly and he'll be the scary guy yelling at you in the kitchens.”

This is one thing Ifan’s been worried about, not knowing what he'd be able to do about making his own food when he felt like it.

“Some of you still have jobs you need to get up for.” Leah continues. “Some of you are going to be working for the team, helping out with front office stuff. My point is that people need to be able to get up in the morning, so please respect that and keep the noise down after about eleven pm. You're okay in either of the lounges, but this room and the ballroom can be heard from the bedrooms, so bear that in mind. Also, if you've got a top floor bedroom the guys underneath might not appreciate loud music.”

“Not if it's Petr's music!” Tucker laughs at his own joke.

“I'm not on the top floor.” Petr doesn't even attempt to defend his taste in European pop.

“And speaking of noise in bedrooms…” Leah has to stop as they work out where she's going and start laughing. “Speaking of noise in bedrooms: sex. Yes, I said it. If you have a girlfriend, or for the sake of diversity a boyfriend, then they can stay over like they would if you lived in the old sort of team housing. But, we're not expecting them for any meals other than breakfast without prior arrangements, and no casual hook-ups. If there's a walk of shame, it has to be you on your way in and not your bad decisions on their way out.”

There's more catcalling, mostly at Vince’s expense. Leah has to raise her voice to get their attention.

“ _And if it gets awkward,_ with girlfriends staying over, if it's making other guys uncomfortable or you're taking the piss, we are prepared to change this rule. Hopefully we won't have to. Any questions so far?”

Ifan actually finds himself putting his hand up. “Laundry?”

“Okay, yes. We have a set of washers and dryers in the utility room, which you’ll see on your tour. We're going to start off by leaving you to sort yourselves out like adults, don't leave your stuff in the machines, and so on, and if that doesn't work we’ll think again. We’ll provide detergent and so on but if you're a sensitive flower and you want to buy your own that's up to you.”

“Thank you.” Ifan's impressed with how Leah’s handling this, given how young she is and that he's pretty sure she's not had to cope with a whole team of hockey players before.

“Right, we’re going to show you around in small groups so you can actually see what you’re looking at and not just the back of each other's heads, and we’ll meet up back here afterwards for any more questions you might have.” Leah gives them a considering look. “There are fifteen of you, if we don't count Max, and we need three groups. Your first challenge is to prove to me that you can count to five. I understand this is important in hockey.”

They all laugh, looking around at each other like they're picking groups for a school project.

“Go on then, get on with it!” Max waves at them, and the room briefly descends into chaos.

William takes charge, of course. “Okay, lads. One group with me, one with Scott, one with Ifan. Go!”

Apparently the A on Ifan’s jersey also qualifies him as a supervising adult off the ice. Petr drags Jan over to him immediately. Tiny, Fish and Tucker gravitate to Scott, and since they're apparently forming a defense tour party Scott grabs the new guy, Roberts.

William gets Mark and Jamie, or rather Mark-and-Jamie as Ifan hasn't seen one without the other since the moment Mark got out of his car this afternoon, and the goalies, which leaves Vince and Callum to make up the numbers on Ifan’s team. Callum keeps looking over at William’s group like he wants to be with the other kids, but before Ifan can see if William will trade Callum for Ross or Vince for Jonny, Stan's come into the room and he’s herding Ifan’s guys out into the corridor with his walking stick.

 

“Who haven't I met before?” Stan looks them over. “I know Evans, and… King, right? You were at the meeting in May.”

Vince nods.

“So, I'm going to guess that you’re Jenkins, because I met all the other young guys earlier in the year except Barnes and he introduced himself to me this afternoon, so you must be the one who doesn't live here and isn't a goalie?”

“Um.” Callum looks like a rabbit in headlights and Ifan can see a lot of chirping in his future. “Yes.”

“Good lad. And you are?”

“Petr Veselý. And this-”

“Jan Tkáč.” Jan interrupts before Petr can do all the talking for him. Stan grins as he shakes his hand.

Ifan can't wait to hear what the announcers do to Jan’s surname. He's willing to bet that it's not spelt how it sounds. Or, if it _is_ spelt how it sounds, everybody's going to try and be clever about it and then get it wrong anyway.

“Nice to meet you.” Stan turns towards the front door. “Now, follow me, and I'll show you around.”

 

It's not that complicated, really. The ground floor has the communal areas, the formal dining room where they'd started, a couple of sitting rooms of varying sizes, and the ballroom.

“This is not an indoor football pitch.” Stan’s tone suggests that he knows that's exactly what they'll be using it for.

The kitchens are also on the ground floor, moved up from the basement in the 1980s. Ifan's not sure what he was expecting from the chef after Leah's description, but Roberto greets them with a smile.

“Welcome to my kitchen!”

Ifan desperately looks around for somebody to share the joke with. Vince bites back a smirk when Ifan catches his eye, and then resolutely looks away so he doesn't laugh. It's not just Ifan who thinks this guy sounds like the Italian chef off the Simpsons, then.

“This is my side of the kitchen.” Roberto gestures to the area behind him, gleaming with stainless steel. “This is out of bounds unless you're assigned to work with me.”

There was a list of additional things they could do to make working for the Huskies a full time rather than a part time job, and it was very heavily implied that if not enough people volunteered they'd all find themselves working in the kitchens for a few hours here and there.

“You stay out of the walk in fridge and you stay out of the storeroom.” Roberto might be a good four to six inches shorter than the rest of them, but he looks like he's not a guy you want to mess with. “This is because we plan the food and we order the food and we don't want to get to prep time and find you've eaten half the ingredients.” He walks around the workstation that divides the kitchen, and Callum takes half a step back. “This is your side of the kitchen. This fridge here is for you. If I put food in here it's leftovers or for general snacking. If you put food in here, you put your name on it and the date - stickers and sharpie here in this box - and if there's no name on the food anybody can eat it and if there's no date I'll throw it away. Got it?”

They all nod.

“If you need to cook, there is a microwave here for you to use whenever, and you can use the stove and ovens but not when I'm cooking unless I say it's okay. Hot water here for tea and coffee. Washing up over here - this is a proper professional pot wash, you will learn how to use it and you will be sensible. Rinse your plates and things, put them in the tray, when the tray is full you run it through the machine. Easy. Don't touch it until you've been shown how.”

Ifan's just about keeping up. He used to work in his local pub over the summers when Dad didn’t need all of them in the shop, he can handle some basic kitchen duties. It seems like it might be worth staying on Roberto’s good side.

“Everybody understand? Good? Good! Have a cookie.”

The plate appears from nowhere. The cookies are amazing, and Ifan can see that the rest of the guys are all on board with this whole business of being fed by a professional chef.

“Okay, come on lads.” Stan points at the door with his cookie, since the other hand is occupied with his walking stick. “More to see. Thanks, Roberto.”

“See you soon.” It sounds vaguely threatening, but Stan’s ushering them down to the basement which holds a room full of brand new laundry machines (Ifan’s mam would kill for one of these, and they've got _five_ ) and the gym.

 

“I'm sure you all know what to do with this.” Stan loses them once they get through the doorway, distracted by the latest bits of kit in front of them. He points at the doors they came in through. “There's a corridor out there with some extra showers and stuff, pretty basic, anybody who lives in will probably just go upstairs, but we've also got doors out to the yard, a separate entrance, and we have thought about maybe letting other people pay to use the space, make some money on it. So if you've got some personal trainer friends who’d be interested, we can have a chat about it.”

Ifan exchanges glances with Vince through one of the mirrors. He’s sure they can think of somebody who’d be interested in using a setup like this.

That’s pretty much it for the tour. The team’s bedrooms are upstairs, and there are some converted apartments in the old stables where Roberto lives and where Jo can stay when she’s in the country.

“I might take one myself.” Stan muses. “The gatehouse is a bit big. A ground floor apartment would be just the ticket.”

 

*

 

It’s not quiet, upstairs, but somehow it still manages to be peaceful when Ifan opens his bedroom window and looks out across the grounds. It’s starting to get dark, and there’s a movement in the trees down by the gates that he thinks might be bats.

There’s laughter from the floor above, probably Jamie and Mark, and Petr’s playing some of his particular brand of terrible pop music. Ifan’s pretty sure he’s just doing it for his own amusement after the comments the guys were making earlier.

It’s going to take some getting used to, living with so many of his teammates, living in a place so big it has not only cleaners but also a chef and a groundskeeper, but hopefully it’s going to be fun.

An adventure, if nothing else.

 


	4. William Walker

William had three offers from other teams this summer.

He didn’t tell Max.

He didn’t tell Max, because Max would have told him to consider them. William’s a top line forward for the Huskies, and he could be on the top two lines of any other team in the league, getting more money and more wins that he would here.

(Actually, one of those offers was from the Piranhas, where he’d be guaranteed top line minutes with no more money or chance of winning than he’d have here, but the point stands.)

So William didn’t tell Max. William turned up to the Huskies contract discussions, and signed on with the team for another season.

He’s not a local boy, he didn’t grow up loving the Huskies.

He’s not got local ties, no local girl who’s hinting about engagement rings, no need to stay near to schools or social lives.

 

But dammit, he’s been with this team for three years, captained them for two, and he’s not going to walk away ( _walk away, Walker,_ they used to catcall, back when he still started fights), he’s not going to be tempted by money or trophies.

He wants those trophies, of course he does, but he wants them _here_.

He wants to win them here, with Max.

 

Max is his best friend, even though he’s far too old for concepts like that. Max was his mentor, when William first moved up to the league, and when Max left the Scorpions and came to coach the Huskies, he brought William with him. Max was William’s captain, and now William captains Max’s team, and he can’t imagine playing hockey without him.

One of those offers was from the Griffins, and they’ve got a good chance of bringing home silverware, but it just wouldn’t be the same.

 

*

 

The crowd’s eager for the first game after the long summer. It may only be pre-season, but the rink is reasonably full. Warm-up has finished, the fans are making their way to their seats. The main lights are down, just coloured spots circling on the ice, the bassline of the music has everybody’s blood pumping to the same beat.

It’s a familiar song to the crowd, and they’re clapping along to the cues, waiting, waiting for the moment when their team will burst out onto the ice and the year can finally start.

The gate by the home dressing room is wide open.

**_“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, get on your feet and put your hands together, because the boys are back in town! I want to hear you get behind the team, as we say welcome home and Let’s! Go! GRIFFINS!”_ **

The crowd erupts obediently.

William circles left, circles right in the shadows between the spotlights and wishes that they could have started the pre-season at home.

 

Jan’s passes land on William’s stick as if they’ve been playing together for years. They fly up the ice together, Vince on the other wing, and maybe it is just the first game of the pre-season but there’s this thread, this feeling that maybe they’ve got _something_.

Vince is familiar across the ice, Fish and Tucks are guarding the blue line like always, and if it wasn’t for Jan in the middle and the new jersey design that never feels normal until October it could be last season, out on the ice with his boys just like always.

The difference, though, is that last year’s Huskies lost far more than they won, a rag-tag bunch of bottom-feeders who actually made it into a playoff spot for three weeks last November before slipping back down into a ninth/tenth dance with the Piranhas, who had to alternate their back up netminder with their third-string for half the season.

They remember those three weeks, though, when just for a moment it seemed like anything could be possible, when Jonny was a wall in the net and they were actually _winning_ , they remember those three weeks and they want that feeling back.

Jan wasn’t here and doesn’t remember the crushing inevitability of watching a playoff spot rise out of their reach. Ethan played for the Saxons last season, he always had a shot at the finals. Mark won playoffs in the league below just a few months ago. None of those guys ever had to think of themselves as losers.

As of right now, it’s a fresh start. This is the first pre-season game and that means that they haven’t lost a single game yet.

William’s kind of hoping to keep it that way.

 

Jan’s passes land on William’s stick as if they’ve been playing together for years, but the Griffins’ defense is in the right place and with twelve minutes gone in the first period, the Huskies have only managed about two shots on Nick Harper.

The Huskies’ defensemen are still finding their feet. Fish and Tucks have played together long enough that they’re just shaking the dust off, already aware of one another on the ice, but this is Ethan’s first game with the team and even if Max wasn’t mixing the pairings up, trying things out, there are bound to be gaps. It’s just a shame that the Griffins seem to be so good at finding those gaps. It’s entirely down to Ross that they’re 0-0 at the end of the period, when the shots on goal are announced as 3-15.

It’s William’s job to keep the boys fired up.

“It’s the pre-season. We don’t have to win this.”

Out of the corner of his eye, William can see the new guys looking confused.

“But we _can_ win it.” He continues. “Yes, we’re trying out new lines, but while that means that we have to work around our mistakes, it also means that we just might find some gold. We’re not behind. We need to put more shots in, let less shots through. More pressure on their net. One thing about this team, no matter what anybody else might have to say about us, we never give up. We never quit. And with this scoreline and two periods still to go, this game is a very long way from over!”

There’s a rumble of agreement from the boys, and Max takes over.

“I like most of what I’m seeing out there. Jamie, I want you on Petr’s line, I’ll go out on Mark’s line. Ethan, when you’re out with Scott you can push forward a bit more, Scott’s going to stay back. Fish, Tucks, keep it up, good to see that you haven’t forgotten everything over the summer. Tiny...”

Tiny looks up from where he’s been fiddling with his skate laces.

“Tiny. I have no idea why McLaughlin seems to want to piss you off, possibly you hit him so hard last season that he’s got memory loss, but keep your gloves on, yeah? I’d rather test the power play units than the PK.”

Most of the guys laugh, and Tiny grins around the mouthguard that he’s still chewing even though they’re in the dressing room.

“Yes Coach!”

“Alright then, lads, let’s get back out there, and get ourselves on the board!”

 

The Griffins score first, because of course they do. Petr loses a faceoff in the defensive zone, and the Griffins pull off a textbook set play that sends the puck spinning over Ross’s shoulder and ignites the crowd.

“Now.” Jan says, as William’s line heads over the boards. “Now is our turn to score.”

William doesn’t have time to question Jan’s unshakeable certainty, settling in on the edge of the faceoff circle as Jan glides into place at the dot. Vince meets William’s eyes from the far side of the circle and nods, as if William had asked him a question. William glances to his right, checking that Scott and Ethan are where he’s expecting them to be, and then the puck drops.

Jan’s fastest, and the puck’s on William’s blade and shoved back to Scott. Vince is already heading forwards, and the puck sails over to him just in time for him to carry it into the zone, Jan just behind.

William’s blades bite into the ice and he rushes to catch up.

The Griffins’ defense have closed Vince’s chances of a shot, and he dishes the puck behind without looking, and somehow Ethan’s in exactly the right place. Ethan doesn’t have a shooting lane either, but Jan’s moving with a confidence that draws the Griffins and William’s still going forwards. Ethan’s pass goes clean to Jan, Jan’s already wound up for a shot that Harper can see, a shot that Harper’s ready to block, and instead Jan knocks the puck aside so that William can tap it in backdoor.

It’s a pretty play, pretty passes and an ugly squeak of a goal, but the red light behind the net is the same no matter how fancy your goal is, and William’s got his arms out for Jan, for Vince, for Scott and Ethan, because they’re on the board, and they’re tied. Seventeen minutes gone in the second period, and the Huskies are not losing.

 

They won’t be going to overtime tonight. Some teams do, some teams don’t, but the Griffins and Huskies managements have agreed that for the pre-season they play sixty minutes and call it a draw if the scores are tied.

 

The Griffins roar out fighting into the third, determined to get a win on the first home ice of the year, determined not to lose to the Huskies, who have a lot of work to do if they’re going to shake off their identity as _most embarrassing team to be beaten by_.

 

Tiny’s in the box for tripping when the Griffins get their second goal, a rocket of a shot from the blue line that Ross didn't have any chance of stopping.

 

The third goal is the direct result of a sloppy line change that leaves Ethan facing down three forwards. Their passes are fast and neat and the puck grazes Ross’s blocker on its way to the back of the net.

 

Max switches the lines again as they come off a successful penalty kill, sending Jamie and Ifan out on Mark’s wings.

William finds a water bottle that doesn't feel mostly empty and squirts some into his mouth without taking his eyes off the play.

Mark wins the faceoff. William needs to check to be sure, but it seems like Mark’s faceoff percentage may be better than either Jan or Petr’s. Maybe that's because he's out against the Griffins’ third line centre and it's not such a challenge, but either way it's nice to win _something_.

Mark wins the faceoff, and the puck goes right out to Jamie as if the kids have been playing together for years and not just training for a couple of weeks, like this isn't their first actual game.

Tucker is there to collect the puck when Jamie drops it for him, and Jamie and Ifan both know to be in the right place for his pass. Ifan gets the puck, taps it across to Mark when the largest of the Griffins closes in. Mark’s pass finds Jamie's stick, and Jamie's shot finds the back of the net.

Mark’s yell is louder than Jamie's, as he slams into him for a celebratory hug. His first assist for the team, Jamie's first goal of the season. Ifan taps them both on the head as Tucker and Fish join the huddle, then points Jamie at the bench.

Jamie and Mark have matching grins as they glide past, grins that William can't help returning.

3-2 down with eight minutes to play, and they're not out yet.

 

And then the Griffins hammer the puck past Ross, and the Huskies have a two goal deficit with less than five minutes still on the clock.

 

“Well done.” Max speaks into the flat room. “For a first game, on somebody else's ice, with the crowd against us and a history like ours, that wasn't a bad showing. There's a lot of promise in the lines, a lot of things we can make better, and the important thing is that you never gave up, right to the final buzzer.”

The Huskies never give up. Even by the end of the season when there was nothing but pride still to play for and they didn't have much of that left, the only thing that they could do was just keep going.

“So we'll go home, and tomorrow night we play these guys again in _our_ barn, on _our_ ice and _our_ terms!”

It's almost tangible, the way the atmosphere shifts.

“Because based on the teams I saw tonight, we _can_ beat them.”

 

*

 

The Griffins might have a fancy lighting rig and sound system, but the Huskies have everything they need in the rink.

They've got lights. William's never actually seen the coloured lights in use, but apparently the ice dancers use them for shows. They decided to stop using them for hockey a few years ago, before William came to the team, after a night when they had trouble getting the main white lights to come back on for the game.

Sometimes they accidentally hit the lights with pucks, as the roof isn't actually all that high above the ice.

They've got a sound system too. It's very loud, in the stands at the end of the ice, generating wincing and complaints. It's pretty much inaudible in some of the middle blocks. William can hear the DJ perfectly when they're waiting by the locker room for the team to be announced, but they struggle to hear him from the bench.

Right now, Tom’s doing his best to whip the crowd into a frenzy. The crowd are cooperating, but there are a lot of empty seats out there and about a third of the people are visiting Griffins fans.

The Huskies fans are loyal, though, and William loves them as a group even if some of them are kind of weird individually. During warm up, he recognised a good half of the faces pressed up against the glass, and made a point of waving to the small girl who’s drowning in his game-worn jersey from last season.

Colin Prince does his best to raise funds from the fans that they've got, and William's new jersey already says _owned and loaned by Katie_ below his number.

She's officially his number one fan, even if she is only about six.

William doesn't mind. Vince has to put up with the slightly creepy middle aged ladies looking for excuses to have their photo taken with him. He handles it very well, although William's heard him complaining already this season that his home jersey is sponsored by Colin's sister, who apparently likes to try and cop a feel during photographs. Vince is also worried that he doesn't recognise the name on his away jersey, so that could potentially be somebody worse.

William's away jersey is sponsored by a family who have two kids in the junior teams.

A lot of the guys don't have jersey sponsors at all yet.

 

**_Pleeeaase welcome them back to the ice for the very first time this season, back with a vengeance, because it’s hockey time again and here! Are! Your! HUSKIES! AWOOOOOOOOOOO!_ **

**_In number one, back between the pipes for another season, Ross Prince! In number nine, Benjamin Tucker!_ **

Ross has gone straight to the net and is scoring the ice in his crease. Tucker’s out through the gate and leading the team through their laps of Ross’s end of the ice.

**_In number twelve, iiiiiiit’s Tiny! George Mason!_ **

The home crowd love Tiny, drowning the pantomime booing from the Griffins fans.

**_And making his debut for the Huskies in number fourteen, Ethan Roberts! In number twenty five, the coach is back, Max Davies! Petr Veselý is back in number twenty seven, and joining us from Slovakia, Jan Tkáč wears twenty nine!_ **

Tom gets Jan’s surname right. He can over to the locker room earlier to check the pronunciation with Jan himself.

**_Wearing thirty, heeeeeeere’s Jonny! Jonny Cohen, ladies and gentlemen. Scott Howard’s in thirty four, and here’s your captain, William Walker wearing forty two for the Huskies. Forty six, it's Ifan Evans! Aaaaaand sixty one, Vincent King!_ **

There has to be a pause so Vince’s fan club can scream.

**_Number seventy one is Mark Barnes! Number eighty three, Jamie Garcia! And last but by no means least, give it up for Callum Jenkins in number ninety eight!_ **

Callum gets a loud cheer, the home-town boy in his home-town debut.

**_That’s your team, ladies and gents, these are your 2016-2017 Huskies! And if you’re not already on your feet - and why not? - please be upstanding and remove all headwear for the national anthem._ **

William’s already got his helmet in his hand, ready for the opening notes of _God Save The Queen_. Tom has at least replaced the version he had last year, which sounded like it had been recorded by a junior school orchestra, with one that doesn’t make William wince in the middle.

 

The game doesn’t start well.

Tiny gets called for tripping at 03:38, and it takes just 41 seconds for the Griffins to turn that into a goal.

Max gets two minutes for boarding at 19:00, and they close out the period on the penalty kill and 1-0 down.

 

They don’t give up.

 

They start the second still on the penalty kill and still 1-0 down, and although they kill the rest of Max’s penalty, the Griffins get a breakaway and hammer in another goal at 25:38.

And then at 27:37 one of the Griffins’ defensemen gets a boarding penalty of his own, and the Huskies get to test their power play. Max has Petr, Ifan and William on the first unit, with Max and Scott. The second unit is Jan, Vince and Jamie, with Ethan and Tucks behind them.

William’s line are on their second shift when Ethan’s pass finds Vince, and Vince’s pass finds Ifan, and Ifan finds a lane.

They end the second 2-1 down, and although it’s the same goal deficit as before, it feels like something’s shifted.

 

The Griffins fans will complain, later, that the refereeing was biased, but the more reasonable fans will also admit that the Griffins failed to show up for the third. They were out there on the ice, sure, but it’s as if they were confident enough in their lead that they just didn’t need to try too hard.

The Huskies don't give up.

 

William’s first goal of the year on home ice comes at 43:32. Jan’s won the faceoff, and the puck goes back to Scott. The Griffins have got some pretty big defensemen, and they never look bigger than when there are two of them closing in on you. Scott smacks the puck up the ice, and Vince scrambles to get to it, carrying it over the blue line. It looks like he’s got a lane, but then there’s a Griffin at his shoulder, pushing him off, and so the puck has to go to William instead. William doesn’t have a Griffin on his shoulder, and Will Gibson in the Griffins’ net was expecting the shot to come from Vince, and so the back door is wide open.

The back door is wide open, and the score is tied.

 

The Huskies haven’t been known for any particular area of skill. They don’t have the hardest shots, the best faceoff percentages. They don’t have the steeliest defense or the kind of forwards who terrify opposing goalies on the breakaway. They’ve got Tiny, sure, but even in the field of “biggest goon” there’s competition from the Saxons and Mike Kirkman, who’s nearly as big and just as easy to rile.

Tonight, though, they have a power play that just… works.

 

The Griffins pick up two minutes for slashing at 50:10, and this time it only takes 40 seconds for the puck to get past Gibson. Fish intercepts a pass, sends it over to William, and William fires it over Gibson’s shoulder as if it’s just a training exercise.

McLaughlin gets called for tripping at 54:13, a really blatant move that only the most biased of Griffins’ fans could dispute. Petr wins the faceoff (and if that keeps happening, William won’t be complaining). Max collects the puck and carries it into the zone, saucers it across to William and William lifts it over Gibson’s pads and into the net.

It only took 27 seconds and William’s got a third goal and a _hat trick_ , but more importantly the Huskies have a two goal lead with just over five minutes still to play.

“Hold tight, lads,” Max yells, as they change lines. “We’ve got this.”

And somehow, they do. The Griffins pull Gibson with just over a minute on the clock, and although the Huskies get two icing calls instead of the empty netter they’re after, the Griffins can’t squeak even one goal back and with a rush of disbelief, the Huskies have the win.

 

It’s only the pre-season, and so the Griffins are all smiles when they shake hands.

 

The locker room is loud, as they yell over each other. William's getting far too much attention for his hat trick, and Petr's his usual exuberant self. Most of the guys played with him last year, and so they know to anticipate the enthusiastic hugs that take no account of whether or not this is a good time. Jan either knows Petr's habits from when they played together years ago, or he simply gets lucky because their stalls are next to each other and Petr grabs him for a hug before he has a chance to take off anything further than his pads. Jamie warns Mark, William actually sees him grab Mark’s arm and shake his head when Mark’s about to start stripping, although William can't hear what he says, so it's just Ethan and Callum who find themselves wrapped in an armful of happy Czech when they're down to just their underwear.

Callum looks kind of shell-shocked. Ethan barely blinks.

Max makes no attempt to calm everybody down. This is the kind of feeling that they'll need to remember when the season’s underway. Instead he just grins at William over Vince’s stall.

“Good to be back?”

“Good to be back.”

 


	5. Hector

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first of the bonus chapters. These will be posted in between the regular chapters, which post Monday and Thursdays, as these chapters can be quite a lot shorter.

 

Being  _ Hector The Husky _ is one of best parts of the week, when he goes through the ritual of suiting up. The legs have to go on before his skates, and then Hector’s feet fold down over the top of the boots so that only his toes show under the fur and nothing's going to be in danger of fouling his blades. There's a moment of disconnect, sitting there with Hector’s legs but still himself from the waist up, before he secures the straps that hold the trousers up, settling them over his shoulders on top of whatever t-shirt he grabbed on his way out this afternoon, before he shrugs into the pads that give Hector's jersey some shape, pulls the jersey on and finally tucks Hector’s head under his arm and grabs his gloves.

 

Everything fades, when he’s Hector.

Hector doesn't have any concerns or cares. He doesn't have to worry about getting enough hours at work or how to get a second date or… politics, or whatever.

Hector just loves hockey.

And Hector doesn't even have to worry about whether they're going to win or lose, because Hector thinks- no, Hector  _ knows _ \- that the Huskies are the Best Team Ever.

With the head on, everything's muted. Sounds are muffled, and his vision’s restricted, and his heartbeat seems louder somehow. None of the things he might have been worried about on the way to the rink matter any more. Whatever it is, he can deal with it later. Hector’s got things to do.

 

Things like demanding fist bumps from anybody he can wave his paw in front of. Things like skating laps, after the warm up and the ice cut, getting the kids to clap along. Things like helping with intermission games, photobombing any pictures that get taken at the end. Hector's a busy Husky.

 

If they could see him now, those guys at school who laughed at him for his figure skating lessons, they'd- well, they'd probably still laugh at him. It's not exactly  _ Dancing On Ice. _

But it is fun.


	6. Ben Tucker

 

Ben knows perfectly well that his role on the team is to be The Other Guy. Tiny’s the guy who’s going to drop his gloves at any opportunity. Jack is the guy who’s going to drop his gloves if he has to, if Tiny’s in the box or suspended, and Jack is also the guy who’s going to block shots with his face when the pressure’s really on. Scott’s the guy who’s great with the fans and always has a soundbite for the youtube channel, the veteran who you send out behind the lines that need a bit more support. Ethan’s already turning heads, both with the strength of his shot and with, well, whatever it is that the girls like. Mostly that’s just funny because Vince suddenly has competition.

Ben’s role is to be _oh, hang on, that’s only four, there are five D, who’s the other one…?_

As a defenseman, it can be a good thing to fly under the radar, it means he’s doing his job, solid in the background, not making flashy plays or scoring flashy goals, not drawing stupid penalties and bouncing in and out of the penalty box. If nobody notices him, he’s doing it right.

It just sucks, sometimes.

 

*

 

“Anybody any good with computers?” Leah appears in the doorway to the big sitting room, laptop held in front of her. “It keeps freezing.”

“Have you been downloading dodgy porn again?” Vince smirks at his own joke.

“No, I don't do that on the work laptop.” Leah undermines his chirp without missing a beat. “I've got my own for that.”

“Give it to Tucks.” Jack nudges Ben with his foot. Ben’s already reaching for the laptop.

“Budge up.” He knocks Jack’s feet away until he curls up at his end of the sofa and leaves space for Leah to sit between them.

“Are you the expert, then?”

“I wouldn't say-”

“Yes he is.” Jack interrupts. “First point of call, after turning it off and turning it on again.”

“Cool.” Leah settles next to Ben and watches over his shoulder. “Is it something obvious that I should know how to do?”

“I don't know yet.” Ben’s only had it in his hands for about a minute. “What were you trying to do?”

“Update the website.” Leah sighs. “Sean’s sent me through all your new headshots and I'm trying to update the roster page.”

Ben frowns at the screen. “This is really old.”

“No, we only got it in May.”

“I mean the website, not the laptop. It's really out of date software.”

“And you can do it better?”

Whoops, he’s overstepped. “Sorry, I just-”

“No, no, sorry, I wasn't having a go, that was a real question.”

Ben glances her and then looks back at the screen, clicking through a few tabs. “Yeah. I'd prefer to start from scratch, bin this and rebuild it completely…”

“Okay.” Leah slides forwards on the seat like she’s about to stand up. “Go for it.”

“What?”

“I’ll change your admin hours. You can be in charge of the website and our IT.” Leah sounds like that that's settled. Out of her line of sight Jack is suppressing a laugh, probably at the look on Ben’s face. “Um. I mean. If you want.”

“Yes.” Ben doesn't really have a purpose, outside hockey. Jack’s actually using his media and marketing degree, Mark’s never out of the kitchen, and the rest of the guys seem quite happy just doing what they're asked to do. He's already the fix-it guy for the team's electronic devices, it might as well be official. “Okay. That sounds fine.”

“Awesome.” Leah gets to her feet. “Do you want a spot in the office?”

“Um. Yeah… I'll get more done that way.”

“Cool, I'll, um…” Leah waves towards the door and then turns back to the laptop. “Should I take…?”

“What else do you have to do right now?” Jack catches her attention.

“Uh…”

“Because there's a _Monkey Life_ marathon on. You could sit down and watch it with us.”

Ben looks up from the laptop. “Unless you're really busy?”

Leah wavers. “Well, I was going to work on the website all afternoon, so…”

“And you've successfully delegated that now. Job done.” Jack pulls on her sleeve like a toddler seeking attention. “Sit down. Watch the orangutans with us. Tucks isn't going to talk to me any more, he wants to play with the website.”

That's true. It's not like _Monkey Life_ requires his full attention.

“Yeah, okay. Why not?” Leah sits back down.

“Good.” Jack unmutes the TV just as the adverts end. “Team bonding time.”

Ben reckons that they won’t get to the next ad break before Leah discovers that Jack can't sit still and has no concept of personal space.

 

*

 

For example, Ben’s not the only one of the guys who's come out of the bathroom to find Jack sitting on his bed, absorbed in his phone or fiddling with something that doesn't belong to him.

Ben lived with Jack last year, he's used to never assuming that he's got privacy. He locks his door as a matter of course if he's going to do something that Jack can't walk in on. Ben hasn't picked up any girls since he moved into the Hall, but there are other things that you don't want even your best mate interrupting.

Jack just doesn't seem to care. Ben always wraps a towel around his hips when he's walking from his bathroom to his wardrobe, a journey that takes place entirely within the privacy of his own room, because Jack might well have appeared while Ben was in the shower and he just shrugs off any protests with “nothing I haven't seen in the locker room”.

 

“Come on in, make yourself at home.” Ben says, since Jack already has. “Don't mind me.”

He digs through his drawers looking for underwear. He needs to do laundry. “I need to do laundry.”

“Oh, yeah, me too.” Jack looks up from the book he's reading. “Want to split colours and stuff?”

“Okay.” Ben pulls on his last pair of clean boxers and switches his attention to finding matching socks. “Is that mine?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. It's quite good.” Jack raises the paperback that Ben had picked up in a charity shop last weekend.

“I haven't finished it yet.”

“I know. I haven't moved your bookmark.”

That had been an epic row last year, way out of proportion to the offence, as Ben finally snapped over Jack’s constant invasion of his space.

“Good.” Ben steps into his jeans and pulls on a t shirt. “Want to do laundry now?”

“Yeah, okay.” Jack looks around for something he can use as a bookmark and finds a receipt to mark his place in Ben’s book. “Let me just grab my stuff.”

 

There's no need to stay and watch the machines, but the noise of the spin cycle makes this one of the safest places to gossip.

“So.” Ben double checks that the wash cycle has started. “Leah put up with you okay yesterday...”

He's teasing. Ben had actually been so absorbed in the website that he hadn't noticed Jack extending his absent-minded auto-cuddling to Leah until Vince had cleared his throat pointedly.

“Steady there, Fisher,” he'd said, “Tucks’ll be getting jealous.”

“Huh?” Jack had looked over at Ben, confused, and only then seemed to realise that he'd got his feet tucked under Leah's leg. “Oh, sorry!”

“Fisher’s got no sense of personal space.” Vince explained for Leah's benefit. “You get used to him.”

“Eventually.” Ben had finally looked up from the laptop. “If he's not making you uncomfortable, I don’t mind sharing. If he _is_ making you uncomfortable, just tell him to get off.”

“Like a dog that's not meant to be on the furniture.” Jack explained cheerfully. “I forget.”

Leah had just rolled her eyes, but she didn't make him move and next time Ben glanced up from the screen she was leaning against Jack’s shoulder.

 

“She's cool.” Jack’s tone is completely neutral, and Ben decides to take him at face value. Despite his lack of concern over personal space and other people's possessions, Jack’s really good at keeping secrets. Maybe he genuinely does just think that Leah's a great addition to his pool of people he can cuddle without consequences, but if there's something else that he doesn't want to share then Ben’s got no hope of getting it out of him.

For the record, Ben thinks that Jack probably does just see Leah as a new cuddle buddy, but either way there's no point in pursuing it so he changes the subject.

“Which of the new guys are we pranking first, then?”

“Callum.” Jack doesn't even look up from where he's lining up the laundry detergent and fabric softener so that the labels are facing the right way.

“You've put some thought into it, then?”

“Mm.” Jack finishes arranging the bottles and pulls himself up to sit on one of the washing machines. “Mark’s all buddied up with Jamie, right, so Jamie will probably clue him in if we try any of our classics.”

“True.” Ben follows Jack’s example and sits on a machine opposite him. “And we need to study Jan a bit more first.”

“Foreign guys are always trickier.” Jack agrees. “And I've heard things about Roberts…”

Ben has also heard things about Ethan, and why he left the Saxons. They can't all be true. Some of them are just too far out. Some of the stories contradict each other.

“What in particular?”

“Finchy said not to prank him. He said that it'll develop into the worst prank war we've ever been in and we won't win.”

“Finchy said that?” Finchy’s Jack’s bro from juniors. He's got absolute faith in Jack’s pranking skills.

“Mm-hm.” Jack nods, serious. “And whilst I love a prank war as much as the next guy, we all live in the same house and it would be 24/7.”

“Too stressful.”

“Too stressful.” Jack agrees.

“So.” Ben continues after a moment. “What I'm hearing here is that we need to involve Roberts in planning the pranks, to make sure that if shit goes down he's on our side?”

Jack leans forwards for a high five.

 

*

 

They're 2-1 down going into the third, they're all tired, and the last thing they need is for Tiny to pick up five plus game for spearing.

However, Tiny's crashing his way to the locker room with his associated non-family-friendly language drowned out by the crowd, Callum’s installed in the penalty box with strict instructions to skate straight for the bench when he gets out, and the first PK unit are setting up for some hard work.

The Cobras aren't a particularly highly skilled team, but it's their ice, they're a physical team, and there are just more of them than there are Huskies players. Nobody’s actually counting, but Ben’s probably played at least eighteen out of the forty two minutes so far.

They survive, given a respite when the Cobras pick up a penalty for tripping and two of their five minutes become four on four instead, and finally the Cobras’ back up goalie is leaning over the boards, banging his blocker to count out the final seconds.

Ben intercepts a pass as the Cobras step up the pressure, and slings it out of the zone even as he _knows_ it's too late and it's going to be an icing call.

Callum’s got his head down, skating hard for the Huskies bench, when the puck passes right in front of him and connects with his stick by pure accident. He doesn't even look over to check, just twists to redirect his speed towards Stone and the Cobras net.

There's no chance, really, Stone’s too experienced for a one-on-one with the Huskies’ rookie to come to anything. There's no way that Callum’s going to carry it into the zone, even if the Cobras’ defensemen trying to catch him are big rather than fast, there's no way that he's going to skate right, deke left and lift the puck in a perfect arc to clear Stone’s outstretched glove and land right in the back corner of the net…

No way.

Ben yells as the red light come on, and he's the first one to get to Callum where he's come to a standstill in the Cobras’ zone, shaking slightly.

“Attaboy!” Ben’s hug carries Callum a couple of feet down the ice before Petr, Ifan and Jack crash into them.

Callum's grin is blinding past the bars of his face cage when they release him to skate past the bench.

“Sorry.” He’s saying as they step through the gate and the next lines go out. “I know you said to come straight in, but the puck was right there, and-”

“Kid.” Max wraps an arm around his shoulders and tugs him in. “Don't apologise for that. You read that really well.”

Callum's grin is even bigger, if that's possible, as he sits down and reaches for a water bottle.

They're tied, with ten minutes still to play. Ben nudges Jack until he moves over and lets Ben lean on the boards next to him.

 

Vince lights the goal lamp again at 54:28.

“I don't know how that went in.” He admits, when they change lines again.

“Looked like it came off the back of Stone’s glove.” Jonny’s on gate duty, standing back as William and Jan tumble off the ice behind Vince.

“How does that…?” Mark slides down the bench to make room.

“Who cares, if it counts!” Jonny grins and slams the bolt on the gate.

 

Archer calls a time out for the Cobras on the next whistle, an offside call that lands the faceoff just outside the Huskies’ zone.

“Hold steady.” Max tells the Huskies as they gather in close. “They’re going to push to equalise and they’re going to pull Stone - and they want us to take a penalty so they can get six on four, so behave yourselves.” He points at Jack and Ifan. Time out is only thirty seconds, so neither of them have time to protest their innocence.

Stone stays on the bench, and the Huskies knuckle down for what feels like yet another penalty kill.

 

They’re not on the PK, though, so they can’t get away with icing the puck - but the lure of the empty net means that they’re still looking for a chance to just get the puck flying down the ice.

Scott and Ethan have been stuck out on the ice for almost two minutes before William manages to get the puck out of the zone and force the Cobras to spill over the blue line to avoid an offside call. William chases the puck, which has already been collected by the Cobras’ defense, Jan and Vince hovering back on the edge of the zone while Ben and Jack hurl themselves out over the boards and Scott and Ethan come in.

Ben heads straight down towards Ross, anticipating that the Cobras are about to push for an attack, and Jack guards the blue line so that Jan and Vince have a chance to swap with Max and Petr.

The Cobras come charging into the zone as William’s rolling over the boards and Ifan’s coming on. Ben hurls himself into the path of a shot, and although it bounces off him, Ross gets a glove to it and freezes the play.

Petr’s all focus at the dot, and gets to the puck that essential split-second faster, slamming the puck over to Jack.

Ben’s still closest to Ross and the net as the forwards fan out, looking for a pass that they can run with. The Cobras are splitting their attention between closing in on Jack and monitoring the forwards, and while Ben’s got one eye on the guy who’s out to the side hoping to take advantage of the gap between Ross’s pad and the far post, he can also see what Jack wants to do.

“Fish!” Ben lunges forwards, and Jack passes to him without looking.

They’ve practiced this a million times, on empty ice.

Jack passes the puck, and Ben won’t have time to collect it, he just winds up and behind him Ross has finally closed the back door in case he misses, _and this could be so bad if he misses,_ but he doesn’t miss, the puck hits his tape with that sound that means it’s good, it’s strong, and the puck is singing down the rink towards the waiting empty net.

 

*

 

The bus ride home’s going to take at least three hours. That’s one bonus of playing for the Huskies, though, that at least they’re based pretty much in the middle of everybody and three hours is about as bad as it gets unless there’s an accident or some particularly fucked up roadworks.

Tiny’s already showered and changed when they get through to the locker room. He’s clearly pissed off with himself, and Max takes him outside to yell at him while the rest of them make the short walk over to McDonalds before they have to drive home.

 

“Two big macs and a quarter pounder with cheese, please.” Ben’s been tasked with Max’s order as well as his own.

“Do you want the meals?” This girl really doesn’t look like she’s getting any job satisfaction.

“Oh, yeah. Please.”

“Drinks?”

“Um. One coke, one sprite, and… can I get a strawberry milkshake?”

“Two big mac meals, one coke, one sprite, and a quarter pounder with cheese meal with a strawberry milkshake.”

Ben pays, and steps aside to wait for the food.

“Who’s the third one for?” Callum doesn’t trust anybody to order for him since he ended up with a chicken nugget happy meal during the pre-season, and he’s clearly wondering who’s brave enough to let Ben bring him food. Max is obviously safe from being messed with, especially when he’s already yelling at somebody.

“Tiny.”

“He said he didn’t want anything.”

“Yeah, he always says that.” Jack wanders over. “He thinks he doesn’t want to eat when he’s down on himself, but that’ll wear off once we get on the road.”

“We’ve had practice managing him.”

“Actually,” Jack continues, and Ben silently applauds the seamless transition from normal conversation to prank, “this is the kind of situation we were telling you about.”

“I thought you were having me on.” Callum looks warily from one to the other.

“No, no, it’s for real.” Ben assures him. “Standard practice. When Tiny’s had a bad day, he really does want some company. Like he’s just said he’s not hungry, but he’ll murder that burger once we give it to him. He needs somebody to sit with him, it makes him feel better.”

“But… surely it’s better if it’s one of his friends?”

“No, it’s best if it’s you.” Jack is really good at sounding sincere. “It’s usually something the rookie does. You’re quiet and non-threatening.”

“You’re winding me up.” Callum’s clearly not sure.

“Who’s winding you up?” Ethan’s already got his food.

“These two.” Callum points at Ben and Jack. “Telling me I have to sit with Tiny when he’s had a bad day.”

“Is that how it works here?” Ethan sounds genuinely curious. “Every team’s a little bit different. Kirker liked to have a rookie when he’d had a fight, but if he’d had a bad game he was okay with just his blanket.”

“His  _blanket_ _?_ ” Even Ben’s surprised by the image of Mike Kirkman huddled in a bus seat with a blanket.

 _“Kirkman_ _?_ ” Callum’s eyes get even wider.

“Oh yeah.” Ethan nods. “Although don’t ever say I told you that because he can be a bit sensitive and, you know, he reacts badly. But if Tiny needs a rookie to sit with him after that game, it’s best that you do it. The Saxons actually lost their deposit on a bus once when Mike didn’t have his blanket.”

“Yeah, I heard about that.” Jack’s expression says that it was a painful story.

“You’re serious?” Callum looks around the three of them.

“Of course we are! We’re not going to make up something like that about a guy like Tiny, are we? Do you think we’ve got a death wish?”

“Uh…”

Callum’s food is ready, and then so is Ben’s order. By the time he’s got the drinks wedged into a cup holder, and has made Callum carry one of the bags of food, Jack is collecting his own meal with a subtle elbow to Ben’s ribs.

That went well. Ethan’s a natural.

 

“Just remember,” Jack’s explaining as they get back to the bus, “don’t make out like you’re doing it for him, or he’ll get funny about it. You have to do it like you want to sit with him.”

“Um.” Callum’s looking increasingly nervous. “Okay.”

“You’ll be good at this.” Ethan reassures him. “I know you will.”

Callum squares his shoulders and climbs onto the bus, two paper bags of food in one hand and his drink in the other.

Ben stops at the front to hand Max his dinner and his change, and then follows to see what the fallout is.

The thing with Tiny is that he doesn’t always realise when there’s a prank in progress, and when he does realise it’s usually fifty-fifty whether he’ll co-operate or not.

“I’ve got your food.” Callum’s standing nervously in the aisle, offering the bag.

“I didn’t want-”

“It’s a big mac.” Ben calls. He can hear Tiny’s sigh from halfway down the bus.

“Fine. Thanks.”

“Um. Can I…?”

“What?”

“Can I sit with you?”

Tiny looks around. It’s not like they fill this bus. It's not like they need to share seats.

“Why?”

“Um…”

“Get a move on!” Jack shouts from further down the bus. “We’d all like to get to our seats.”

Tiny must move his bag or something, because Callum turns and drops into the aisle seat next to him, his face pale.

“Got you a milkshake.” Ben says, when he reaches them, prising the cup out of the holder and passing it to Tiny.

“Ta.” Tiny glances at Callum out of the corner of his eye, and then squints at Ben, but he doesn’t ask what they’re up to so either he hasn’t got it yet or he’s going to play along.

Jack ruffles Callum’s hair as he passes.

 

They’ve been on the road for about an hour, food long since eaten, when Jack snorts at something on his phone and leans across the aisle to show Ben. They’re sitting a few rows behind Tiny and Callum, so they can’t really see them except for the top of Tiny’s head, but Ethan’s one row in front and across the aisle and he’s sent them a video.

Callum’s asleep, leaning against Tiny’s shoulder. The video’s only twelve seconds long, as Tiny glances down at Callum, and then realises he’s being filmed and glares right at the camera just before Ethan cuts it off.


	7. Petr Veselý

It’s not Petr’s fault.

There are many other people who caused this situation.

 

The first person to take a share of the blame should be that fan from another team who started the whole thing rolling with that tweet.

**_Huskies should go back to the pound!!_ **

Then again, probably nothing would have happened, other than a few likes or retweets from his friends, except that somebody tagged the Dogs Trust in a retweet.

And then whoever runs the national Twitter for the Dogs Trust quoted it, and tagged the local branch.

And then somebody in the local branch replied.

**_The @EPLHuskies are welcome here any time!_ **

So really, all of those people should be held accountable for their actions before anybody points a finger at Petr.

 

It’s not even Petr’s idea to go down to the shelter. That’s Fish’s fault, or maybe Tucker’s.

Leah _approved_ the trip. Sean went with them and he’s the team’s official photographer. Max was there, William was there, Ifan and Scott were there. Ifan’s been Petr’s linemate for long enough, and Jan was there too, he’s known Petr for years. They should have predicted what was going to happen.

They should have put a stop to it.

So it’s really not Petr’s fault at all.

 

Everybody shows up, even Ross, who hates publicity and has willingly taken on extra kitchen hours even though he doesn’t live in the house as a trade off for being allowed to avoid school visits and kids’ skating sessions. The guys are herded into a large room and given a list of instructions about not winding the dogs up too much and not making too much noise, and then they split them into three groups, one with Sean and the others with publicity people from the shelter, and they get to play with some dogs.

Fish, Tucks, Ethan, Scott and the rookies are outside, playing with the dogs who do the agility courses.

Jan, William, Ifan, Max and Vince are meeting the hard-to-home dogs, to tug at the heartstrings.

Tiny, Ross and Petr get pulled aside for particular photo opportunities.

There was a meme thing going around the fans last season, where they’d tag photos of golden retrievers as Petr. Possibly it would have died out quicker if Petr didn't click like on every single picture. So, Sean wants pictures of Petr with real golden retrievers, and the shelter have a litter of three puppies who are almost old enough to go out for rehoming. Petr’s more than happy to roll around on the floor being attacked by wagging balls of fluff while Sean snaps away.

Then he wants pictures of Tiny with the smallest dogs that the shelter has, so Petr’s puppies have to go back to their kennel while Tiny cradles a Yorkshire Terrier in one hand and eventually manages to get the terrified look off his face.

“But it’s so small!” He keeps saying. “What if I hurt it?”

Ross gets a photogenic mongrel who responds really well to his attempts to teach it tricks.

“We used to have a dog at home.” He says, while the dog’s investigating his pockets for treats. “I miss having a dog.”

Sean doesn’t stage anything for Ross, just photographs him making friends with the dog and occasionally mutters under his breath about breaking the team’s Instagram page.

“Is he still looking for a home?” Ross looks past Petr to the shelter volunteer who’s supervising the dogs.

“Yes, he is. He’s a lovely dog but a lot of people are wary about mixed breeds.”

“Can we take a selfie?” Ross’ next comment is addressed to the dog. Petr had no idea Ross even knew what a selfie is.

The dog seem amenable when Ross gets his phone out, and snuggles happily under his arm, even looking at the camera on cue.

“Thank you.” Ross lets him go, although he doesn’t go far, and taps at his phone. “I’ll just send that to Dad…”

The volunteer collects the dog. “Did you have any other shots you wanted to stage?”

 

Sean wants a group shot of all the guys with a selection of dogs, if there are enough dogs who will get along with each other in a room of sixteen hockey players.

Petr’s puppies are too young, and Tiny’s Yorkie doesn’t like large groups of people, but Ross’ mongrel is only too happy to get together with the agility dogs and a couple of the older animals that Max and William have been visiting.

 

It’s probably Jan’s fault, after everything else, because he’s the one who calls out _“Hej, Petr, we need this one in the picture!”_ in a language that only Petr can understand, even though he speaks perfectly good English, so afterwards everybody will remember Petr being the one to ask if this particular dog can join their photoshoot.

It’s a young Alaskan Malamute, still only a puppy but with legs like a teenager, and of course everybody agrees that the Huskies have to have the husky in their picture.

It’s not Petr’s fault that he ends up holding it, or that it keeps licking his face when Sean’s trying to take pictures.

 

None of it is Petr’s fault.

 

*

 

“No.” Leah’s holding up remarkably well in the face of Petr’s best Pleading Expression. “No. We are not having a puppy in a house full of hockey players. This place is crazy enough already.”

“So you won’t notice!”

“I’m pretty sure I will, when I end up being responsible for feeding and walks and vet visits because you’re all only interested in playing.”

“I will look after her!” Petr’s not sure why he said that. He can probably make the rookies do it.

“And when you go home in the summer?”

“Uh…” Petr hadn’t thought of that. “I can take her with me?”

“I could take her in the summer.”

Leah glares at Ifan for interrupting. “Really.”

“Sure.” Ifan shrugs. “My family’s bedlam already, adding a dog won’t be a problem.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Leah folds her arms. “It’s a massive commitment, and there’s a lot going on here already. It’s not exactly an ideal environment for a dog.”

“The shelter people said-” Petr stops himself, remembering too late that he’s not supposed to mention that the shelter’s re-homing people made a home visit while Leah was out on Wednesday.

“Did they.” Leah’s not impressed. “Anything else you’ve already done? Bought a dog bed? Crate for the car? Pet insurance? Stocked up on toys?”

It’s just sarcasm. She can’t possibly know about the squeaky chicken hidden in Petr’s wardrobe.

“You can’t just charge ahead with these things, they have to be agreed first! There are far too many people living in this house to adopt a dog without some serious discussions!”

Petr frowns. He’s starting discussions, isn’t he? He’s got a PowerPoint and everything. And all the guys liked the idea when it was suggested.

“We’ll look after her!” Maybe if he repeats it enough she'll believe him.

“Hello, has anybody seen my-” Stan pauses in the doorway, and his attention goes straight to the computer where Petr's running a slide-show of the pictures of the puppy licking his face. “Ooh, are we getting a dog?!”

 

*

 

Leah won't let Petr name the puppy.

“She's the team dog. We got her as part of a publicity thing and we should let the fans name her.”

“We're not calling her Doggy McDogface.” Fish insists. “Fan naming is dangerous.”

“What do you suggest, then? Seems like too good an opportunity to miss.”

“We can ask for suggestions - the guys can put their suggestions in too!” Fish cuts Petr off before he can even voice that protest. “And then we pick the five we like best and the fans can vote. That way we know that we can use the final name, because we only shortlist names we like, but the fans get to be involved.”

Petr wants to call the puppy Ester, after his first ever girlfriend (they were seven, she held his hand in the playground at school), but it looks like he won't get automatic naming rights even if he is officially in charge of cleaning up poop.

 

*

 

Petr’s always been good at getting up early.

He still goes and helps out on his uncle’s farm, in the off season. It’s too short a time to get a real job, too long to spend underfoot at his mother’s apartment, so he spends the summers out in the fields, doing whatever needs to be done. Keeps him in shape, too.

Last season he had a job in the restaurant at a local hotel, working breakfast and lunch shifts because that always left him free for training and games. It meant that he had to be in work at half past five in the morning, but although the rest of the guys thought he was crazy, Petr doesn’t really mind.

He still wakes up early, even if they were late home from an away game the night before, so it’s no trouble to take Ester for a lap around the edge of the grounds before most of the rest of the guys are even awake.

And on the days when he doesn’t wake up at home, Ester’s not going to spill any of the secrets that she can smell on his jeans when she checks him over. Ester’s just as pleased to see him whether he came from his own bed or Katja’s.

 

Katja’s not Petr’s girlfriend. If he still used his Facebook account, this would be the perfect example of an “it’s complicated” relationship - except that the main reason it’s complicated would stop them from having a record of it publicly anyway.

Katja’s got a boyfriend, back in Norway. They don’t see each other very often, and they fight a lot, but technically she’s in a relationship.

Katja and Petr bonded over a shared love of ice hockey, during the quiet patches on weekday mornings when the breakfast room was set up but empty of customers, and nobody needed Katja’s attention at the reception desk. She’d come to games, when her shifts allowed, and they’d go out for coffee after work when they were both on earlies and bitch about their managers, and somehow one thing led to another.

Repeatedly.

Katja doesn’t live in at the hotel any more, she’s got a flat with a couple of other girls who’ve met her boyfriend a couple of times and don’t like him. They seem to like Petr, though. Most people do, he’s that kind of guy.

They’ve reached a comfortable point where they don’t pretend that it’s not happening or that it’s not going to happen again. Petr sleeps over, sometimes, but he never stays for breakfast. It used to be that one or both of them would have to be in work for the early shift, or that Petr had to get to the gym, and it seems to be where the line has been drawn. Petr doesn’t stay for breakfast, and he isn’t Katja’s boyfriend.

He doesn’t have early shifts anymore, and the gym at the Hall is open to him any time day or night, but Petr doesn’t stay for breakfast. He has to go home and walk the dog.

 

Ester treats every morning’s walk as if it’s the first time she’s seen the grounds of the Hall, even though they’ve walked the same route every morning for ten days now.

It feels like so much longer, since they brought her home. It feels like she’s always been part of the team.

Petr collects her from the utility room, where she drags her bed across the doorway after they shut her in and trips up anybody who might want to use the washing machines in the middle of the night. They go out of the door by the gym and across the yard towards the stable block. Roberto’s flat’s in there, and he’s usually on his way over to the kitchens at around the same time.

Ester loves Roberto, but she already knows that when he’s wearing his chef’s whites she’s not allowed to touch him. She’s smart, is Petr’s pretty girl. He tells her this in Czech.

He tells her lots of other things, as well.

 _“I know it’s too early to say anything.”_ They head out of the far side of the yard and over to the clump of trees where Ester likes to hunt for squirrels. _“I know we’ve only played six games, including the preseason, but it really feels like maybe, maybe, this year…”_

 _“It’s just hard, you know? Being on a team that keeps losing.”_ Ester looks up at him and wags her tail, like she sympathises. _”We had that patch, last year, when it seemed like everything might just go right for us, even though Ross was hurt, because Jonny was an absolute wall in the net and everybody’s passes were connecting, and then…”_ Petr sighs. Ester’s attention is firmly locked on an interesting smell at the foot of the trees.

 _“So I don’t want to get too excited, but. But. What if we could actually do something, this year? Make it up to the middle of the table? Get to playoffs, even?”_ Even in his daydreams Petr can’t imagine them winning the triple. League, Cup, Playoffs. Just to qualify for the playoffs would be more than they could have hoped for last year.

 _“Come on then, no squirrels on the breakfast menu today!”_ Petr takes their usual path along the inside of the boundary wall, and Ester gambols after him.

 _“Soňa’s coming to stay this weekend.You’ll like Soňa, she’s cool.”_ Cool is exactly the word for Jan’s girlfriend. She’s one of those incredibly calm, collected people, the sort of person Petr never has a hope of being but quite likes being around. She shares Jan’s very dry sense of humour. _“She’s studying at university over here, so she’s going to be around sometimes.”_ That had been a big factor in Jan’s decision to come and play in England. Petr likes to think that it was his own presence that made the Huskies appeal, and not just that they’re reasonably close to where Soňa’s studying.

 _“I think you’d like Katja, too.”_ Ester certainly wags her tail just as much on the days when Petr comes in smelling of Katja’s bed. _“I’m going to ask if she wants to come and meet you.”_

Not while Soňa’s here, though. That’s too much like he’s trying to introduce his girlfriend to his friend’s girlfriend. That’s not what Katja wants.

_“Of course she’ll want to meet you. Who wouldn’t want to meet you? Such a clever girl! Such a pretty girl!”_

 

It takes more than fifteen minutes to follow the boundary wall around the back part of the property. It’s still a lot of ground for one house, even if it used to be a lot bigger.

They do move pretty slowly, though, because Ester wants to investigate everything and Petr’s in no hurry to move her along.

The grounds behind the house are split between the kitchen garden, the orchard and the formal garden. The kitchen garden and orchard haven’t really been used for much in recent years, but Marty who looks after the gardens has got plans for them.

Petr, with his farming connections, signed up to work in the grounds without really thinking about British weather. Still, it keeps him out of the kitchens and away from the admin work. And Marty’s full of ideas and enthusiasm that he seems to think Petr’s going to help him convert into a working kitchen garden that can actually feed the guys. He’s big on environmental stuff, the kind of guy who only buys local as far as he possibly can.

Even Petr, who loves a new project more than most people, was a little bit taken aback by Marty’s plans for a separate dog waste composting unit, which he came up with very quickly once Ester’s addition to the family was confirmed. Apparently her waste has to be treated separately before it can be used for fertiliser. And it’s better not to use it on food plants. Either way, all the guys know that Ester’s toilet clean-up has to go in the blue composter and never the other one.

Everybody’s on board with Petr’s plan to train her to do her business near the special composter so that nobody has to go far to clean up.

 _“You’re a good girl! Yes you are!”_ Petr uses the little shovel to get rid of what she’s just produced, and fits the lid back on Marty’s contraption. _“Come on then!”_

 

Out at the front of the house, the driveway is surrounded by lawns that require a ride-on mower and are the perfect place to throw a ball for a puppy.

It’s absolutely a coincidence that this puts Petr in the right place to spot any of his teammates who might be sneaking back in after getting lucky the night before.

Ester’s good at chasing the ball, and she’s getting the hang of catching the ball, although she’s still at that stage where her legs move too fast for the rest of her to keep up and she trips over herself on a regular basis.

They’re still working on “giving the ball back”.

Ester spots Vince before Petr does, and rushes off to greet him with the ball still clamped between her teeth.

“Morning, Hound.” Vince ruffles her ears and is rewarded with a soggy tennis ball. “Ugh.”

“Say thank you!” Petr’s determined to get everybody to help with training, even the people strolling up the driveway at 7am in yesterday’s shirt. Ester has to be praised for giving the ball up.

“Good girl.” Vince picks the ball up and throws it hard in Petr’s direction, because dog-slime or not he’s a competitive asshole like the rest of the team. Petr just has time to step aside before he gets bowled over by twenty kilos of enthusiastic puppy.

“You had a good night?” He keeps his expression as innocent as possible while they wait for Ester to untangle her feet and decide which of them most deserves her ball.

“Not bad.” Vince looks at Petr, clearly assessing whether he made it home himself last night. “You?”

“Pretty good, yeah.” They're at a chirping impasse.

Ester drops the ball by Vince’s feet and barks.

“Thank you, Puppy.” Vince picks the ball up. “This is the last one, though, give it to Petr next time. I need to go in for a shower.”

 

Ester makes him throw the ball three more times before Petr’s allowed to take over again.

 

*

 

Fish calls a Puppy Naming Meeting in the big sitting room. He's got Tucks to hook his laptop up to the TV so everybody can see the full list.

Petr checks to make sure that “Ester” made it onto the list.

“Okay, is everybody here?” Fish is in charge because he's officially the team’s Media Coordinator, which Petr thinks is something to do with Twitter.

“Not quite.” Vince is sharing a sofa with Tiny and Ifan. Jan, Scott and Max got the armchairs, and Mark and Jamie have piled into the other sofa with Ethan and Jonny. Petr’s perched on the arm of Jan’s chair.

“The dog’s not here.” Ethan points out. “She should have some input, right?”

“Where is she?” Tucks is sitting on the floor by the coffee table, next to the laptop.

“Ross and Callum have taken her out for a wee.” Leah surveys the room and parks herself on the arm at Ifan’s end of the sofa, balancing her laptop on her knee.

“We're here now!” Callum can see that he's not going to get a seat, and plonks himself on the floor in front of Tiny and Vince. Ross eventually settles in the gap between Max and Scott’s chairs.

“Right, so can we-”

“No!”

Fish stops again as six different people shout at Ester. Ester slinks away from Mark and Jamie with the air of a dog who had _absolutely no intention at all_ of trying to get onto the furniture, and flops down over Ross’ legs instead.

“Are we done?” Fish looks around. “Everybody here? Everybody comfortable?” He barrels on before anybody can answer. “Right. We've got a list back from Twitter for name suggestions, and we need to get it down to five. So, Tucks is going to scroll through and we're going to pick out any that are definitely a no, and any that we all immediately agree should be on the shortlist.”

 

They rule out some of them quite easily. Anything that's too long to shout easily, anything that's cute for a puppy but that's going to sound ridiculous when she's fully grown. Anything Petr and Jan can't pronounce.

“Hetty.” Fish reads. “Hetty the Husky?”

“From the French: ruler of the household.” Leah’s on one of those websites full of baby names. “Do we want to tempt fate by giving a bossy breed of dog a name that means she's in charge?”

“Not a definite yes, but we won't count it out just yet.” Fish nods at Tucks, and Tucks makes a note next to _Hetty_ on the list.

“Did we get a lot of H names?” Ross scratches Ester’s ears. “Lots of things that sound like the girl version of Hector?”

“Not that many, actually.” Tucks scrolls through the list. “Hayden. Harriet.”

“Hectorina?” Mark jokes. “I guess it's not a name that's got an obvious girl version? What does it mean, anyway?”

Leah taps some keys. “From the Greek. Hector: he who holds fast. Steadfast, unswerving.” She types again. “Names meaning steadfast, girls names… Kosta, Konstantina?”

“Constance?” Ifan suggests, and they all look at Ester. It doesn't suit her.

“Connie?” Jamie's version is better. There's a lot of nodding.

“Connie.” Tucks adds it to the list. “Is that a definite for the shortlist?”

“I guess?” Fish looks around, and when nobody disagrees, Tucks changes the text to green and they move on down the list.

“Hayley Wickenheiser.”

“What, the whole thing?” Vince looks taken aback. “I mean, good choice, but it's a bit long?”

“Shall I just put Hayley?” Tucks rests his fingers on the keyboard. “Everybody okay with that?”

Everybody is okay with that, so Fish carries on.

“Laika?”

“Is that the dog that went into space?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. We should shortlist that.” Tiny sounds very certain, and when nobody else says anything Tucks makes that one green as well.

“Mia.”

“I like that.”

“My sister’s called Mia.” Ethan says. “So it might be a bit weird for me.”

“Maybe we can come back to that if we haven't got to five?” Ethan shrugs and nods at Leah’s suggestion.

“Ester.”

Ester barks and everybody laughs.

“Shortlist that.” Ross says. “Since she already knows that one.”

“Luna.”

“Like from Harry Potter?”

“It means moon.” Leah tells them.

“Kind of cool for a wolf-dog?” Callum suggests.

Fish tries to judge the mood in the room. “Make it a maybe?”

Tucks marks it on the list.

“What else have we got? What else does she answer to?”

“Dog?” Vince says. “That's what most of us have been calling her!”

“Yeah, but it’s not like there’s a name that just means _dog_ !” Mark insists. “Who’d name their kid _dog_?”

“Madden.” Leah says, when the laughter dies down. “According to this it means _little dog_.”

“She's not going to be little.”

“She's already not little.” Ross complains. She's sitting on him, he'd know.

“Madigan? There's only two results.” Leah shows the screen to Ifan as if she needs to prove it.

“Maddie?”

“That works better.”

“Not to close to Maisie?” Max asks Scott.

Scott shrugs. “I'm sure we can work out which is my daughter and which is the puppy…”

“Shortlist that, then.” Fish instructs.

“Okay.” Tucks scrolls back up the list. “So, we've got Hayley, Maddie, Ester, Laika and Connie, plus maybes for Mia and Luna. Any more?”

Nobody says anything.

“Everybody happy with the prospect of the dog having one of those names?” There's general agreement, so Fish pushes on. “Everybody happy to lose Mia and Luna?”

There's a lot of nodding.

“Okay, quick vote. Everybody happy with the shortlist, raise your hand?” It looks like every hand goes up. “Anybody not happy?” Nobody moves. “Any abstentions?” Fish jokes. Ester barks again, and Ross lets out a snort of laughter which from the look on his face surprises him as much as it does Petr.

“Okay, so we'll put the poll up tomorrow: Hayley, Laika, Connie, Ester and Maddie. Thanks guys!”

 

Ester follows Petr when he leaves the room, and he snaps his fingers at her absently. _“Sorry if we have to change your name, pretty girl. I hope it’s not too confusing._ ”

 

*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The puppy naming survey is real and you can access it here!](https://www.surveymonkey.co.uk/r/S339Q7Y) (Closing midnight on Friday 15th September 2017, UK time.)


	8. Scott Howard

League table Friday 23rd September 2016

 

  
When he gets home from training on Friday, Scott gives the twins a five minute warning that the light has to go out, replaces Maisie’s beaker of water because the one she's got is apparently yesterday's and she needs a fresh one or she can't sleep, turns out the light in Lewis and Toby’s room, restores a vague sense of order to the bathroom, confiscates Toby’s tablet, rescues Mr Frog where he's fallen out of the top bunk, confiscates Lewis’ tablet just in case, and heads downstairs for dinner.  


“All set?” Felicity looks up when he comes into the kitchen. She's got the calendar spread open on the table, and she's working through a pile of crumpled letters rescued from school and kit bags.

“All set.” Scott confirms. “What do you need me to do?”

“Check the pasta? It should be ready. I'm almost done here…”

“Sure.” Scott drops a kiss on the top of her head as he passes. The pasta is ready, so he drains it and portions it out into two bowls and two Tupperware boxes. The big pan contains meatballs in a tomato and vegetable sauce that smells really good, and he spoons it out over the pasta and brings the bowls to the table.

Felicity notes _camp deposits due_ against November 30th, tucks the pen back into the packet and puts the calendar and the pile of letters aside.

“Three of them for hockey camp this year.” She takes the bowl that Scott passes to her. “Thanks.”

They don't need to put words to it. They're proud of their kids, Scott loves that all three of them want to play the sport he loves, but…. God, it's expensive.

Scott sits down, then stands up again and goes hunting for cutlery.

“Dishwasher’s clean.” Felicity gets up and digs some glasses out of a cupboard while Scott separates the adult sized forks from the small ones. “Water?”

“Please.”

 

They don't talk for the first few mouthfuls, savouring the peace and quiet of a room that may be messy but contains no children, teammates, coaches, colleagues, suppliers or customers making demands on their time.

“Presentation went okay this morning, then?” Scott picks up his water glass. Felicity had sent him a text afterwards, but they haven't actually had a chance to chat yet.

“Yes! It's a good thing I went down early because there were some issues hooking the laptop up to the big screen, but we got that sorted out and then everything was fine.”

“Not too many awkward questions?”

“A few, but nothing I couldn't answer.”

“Do you think you're…” Scott switches his glass for his fork.

“I'm the best internal candidate.” Felicity smiles. “I don't know who they're seeing from the external applicants, but I'm pretty confident.”

“Just the formal interviews to go, then?”

“Yeah.” Felicity takes another mouthful of pasta and thinks as she chews. “I'm not as nervous as I thought I would be. I guess because it's not the end of the world if I don't get the promotion.”

“You should get it. You deserve it!”

“I know.” Felicity grins, not prepared to fake being humble in the privacy of her own home. “It's just, pros and cons, you know?”

Scott knows. They've discussed this at length, before Felicity even applied for the job. But, if she wants to run through it again, he’s got no complaints.

“It's a good job, and I would be awesome at it. The money's good and we do need that money.” Felicity puts her fork down and fiddles with her water glass. “But, it's less flexible on the hours, and there will be more travel, so I won't see as much of you and the kids even without the logistics of getting everybody fed and sent to the right clubs on the right days…”

“We’ll make it work.” Scott covers her hand with his. “You deserve this chance.”

“I just wish… it would be easier if we were closer to family, right?”

It's a rhetorical question and Scott doesn't answer. Felicity's mother is nice enough, but personally he prefer her 150 miles away. Felicity probably feels the same about Scott’s parents. Not that it matters, the point is that they don't have childcare on tap.

“We'll make it work.” He repeats. “Even if I have to quit hockey.”

“You shouldn’t have to-”

“You've made enough sacrifices for this family. I don't want to give up and I won't if I don't have to, but I've only got a few more years left in me anyway. If you and the kids need me to stop playing then I will.”

Felicity turns her hand so she can wind her fingers through his.

Fifteen years, this summer, and sometimes Scott can't believe he got this lucky.

“I love you.”

 

*

 

“It must be kind of weird, though, right?” Alec’s working with Leah in the gym when Scott starts warming up on the bike. “Like, the gatehouse is your family home?”

“Yeah.” Leah fits her replies around lifting. “I mean, it's kind of normal. For me to be moving out. I'm the right age, you know?”

“But you haven't gone far…”

“No.” Leah huffs a laugh and then focuses on her weights again. “We share a garden.”

Scott forgets, sometimes, that Leah grew up here as much as Stan did, in different generations and different circumstances.

“But it makes sense.” She continues. “Stan and I are both better in the stable block apartments rather than living together. And the gatehouse is too big for just one person anyway. And then Mum and Dad have decided to stay out in Auckland. For a while anyway. Charlie’s in laws have. Offered Dad a job. And Charlie needs them. More than I do.” She puts the weights down at the end of her set and catches her breath. “I mean, she's got a kid and one on the way, and she had such a rough time when Luca was born, and Mum and Dad want to see their grandkids.”

“And you're not about to supply any?”

Leah laughs. “I don't have time. I have a puppy and sixteen hockey players to bring up, I can't handle a baby as well!” She pauses. “Even if I had a boyfriend…”

Alec puts the dumbbells back and hands her another set. “Ten more.”

Leah groans and does as she's told. “I've been moving boxes up to the stables all day, don't I get a break?”

“Nope. You need the muscles for moving all Stan’s stuff up to his new apartment.”

“Stan doesn't have much stuff.” Leah points out. “And my stuff’s already in my new place.”

“Then you should have the energy to work out.” Alec points out.

“I hate you.”

“Good.” Alec catches Scott's eye in the mirror and grins. “That means I’m doing this right.”

 

*

 

Leah and Stan have both refused to throw housewarming parties, on the grounds that they each have a one bedroom apartment and there's just no space, and also that they mostly all live together anyway.

Scott had got out of the moving gang since he was at work at the time, but he saw their places when the decorating was being done. Stan’s is all on one level, easy access because he admits that he's not getting any younger, and he needs somewhere that's easy to get around on his bad days.

Leah’s is more quirky, squeezed in on two levels at the end of the building nearest the main house, with an open staircase that worries the father in Scott and a kitchen that's too tiny to cook in.

From what Stan says about her cooking, that's probably for the best.

 

“I guess we’ll have to throw our own party, then.”

They're on the bus on their way to play the Piranhas, and Scott privately thinks that it's going to be just as hard to persuade Leah to let them throw a party in the Hall as it would be to get her to host a party herself.

“Maybe if we win?” Callum sounds hopeful, and Scott keeps quiet.

“And we should win tonight!” Jamie's not the only one who's enthusiastic. Even last year they usually had a good shot at beating the Piranhas.

 

*

 

Callum looks a bit worried when warm-up starts with Ifan and the Piranhas’ goalie yelling at each other in Welsh across the red line.

“It’s okay.” Scott drops down to stretch next to him.

“I’ve never seen Ifan so aggressive.”

“That’s his brother.” Scott explains. “The aggression’s fake.” That’s what Ifan had told him, anyway, when Scott asked. “It’s worse when we play the Blizzard, because Dai’s a defenseman and they can chirp each other all game. Max had to ask him to tone it down at the end of the season because the refs thought it was serious. At least once Gethin gets in net he won't talk to Ifan.”

Ifan always claims they’re just rehashing something minor, for the hell of it. It’s not like Scott speaks any Welsh, he’ll have to take Ifan’s word for it. Mark apparently speaks a little bit of Welsh, maybe he can tell them.

 

The Piranhas are the same struggling team from last year. They're not bad at hockey, exactly, they've got some skilled guys, but they always relied too heavily on set plays and once you've got a read on them they're easy to disrupt.

They've got a new coach this season, but he's kept on a lot of the guys from last year's squad and so far not much seems to have changed.

At least, Ifan says that Gethin says that not much has changed. This is the first time the two teams have met this season so Scott hasn't had the opportunity to find out for himself.

The thing with having a reputation like the Huskies - and the Piranhas must get this too - is that people don't expect to find them hard to beat, and it's not unusual to find the back up in the opposition net.

The Piranhas are starting Gethin tonight, though, and his back up’s on the bench. Scott remembers being impressed by the kid last season when the Piranhas had to play their second and third string goalies as a tandem while Gethin’s leg healed.

Gethin's starting for the Piranhas, and Ross is starting for the Huskies, and nobody's treating this game like it's going to be easy.

 

Playing with Ethan is starting to feel more natural now. Scott can stay back at the blue line and let Ethan push forward when they need an extra skater near the net. He can trust, he's learning, that Ethan will usually be where he's supposed to be. Playing with Tiny kept Scott alert, to put it politely, but playing with Ethan is… safer.

The Piranhas still have Liepa on their roster, with a shot that gives goalies nightmares. They’ve got a couple of rookies who are faster than Scott was really expecting them to be, and they’ve got a new coach and some new systems. They’re still predictable, though, easy to read, and after a couple of scary episodes Scott and Ethan have figured out how to react to the way the Piranhas attack the goal.

 

Mark gets the Huskies on the board at 19:02, with a clever dance around a Piranhas’ defenseman who’s not fast enough to change direction and a beautiful twist that lists the puck neatly over Gethin’s shoulder.

“Abbott coached the Manta Rays last year.” He explains once they get through to the locker room with their one goal lead. “We played against them several times. The systems are familiar.”

Scott forgets, sometimes, that not everybody in this room got used to losing last year. Mark spent last season at the top of the NIHL.

“Gethin’s going to be mad.” Ifan says, with a grin. “That was a good one and they abandoned him.”

“Let's get some more then, shall we, guys?” William claps Mark on the shoulder as he passes. “See if we can really wind Ifan’s brother up!”

 

William and Jan set Vince up for an absolute beauty at 28:33.

 

Fish gets two minutes for slashing at 35:58, and they're on the penalty kill. Max’s unit is out, Tucker, Ifan, Petr and Max, and the Piranhas look dangerous for once. Stanmer’s puck handling is impossible to intercept, and although Scott was surprised to see their rookie go out on the first power play unit, the kid seems to be in two places at once. Just when it looks like Petr’s going to steal the puck, the kid sends it out to Liepa, waiting on the blue line, and he lets fly with a rocket that makes Scott wince, straight through his screening teammates and right past Ross’ glove.

Fish slinks out of the penalty box with his tail between his legs.

 

“Come on, lads!” Ifan's trying to gee them up again in the locker room. “We started the period a goal ahead, we finished it a goal ahead! Those are the Piranhas out there, and we're not losing to the Piranhas! I'm not looking daft in front of my brother!”

“Score a goal, then!” Vince chirps. “Don't just ask us to do all the work!”

“Alright then! I will!”

 

 _Getting one over on your brother_ is the kind of ambition the boys can all get behind. Scott’s working hard to keep the Piranhas offence shut down, but when a line change leaves him in possession of the puck and with space in front of him, he pushes forwards.

Scott's not the kind of guy who gets breakaways, and he's not sure of his chances against Gethin. You miss 100 percent of the shots you don't take, but even as he can see Gethin closing his options there's a familiar _“Scott! Scott!”_ at his shoulder and Scott winds up like he's going to shoot, chips the puck to his left and Ifan tucks it in top shelf.

1-3 up. 49:28, 1-3 up, and that's a goal for Ifan against his little brother and an assist for Scott.

“Okay, guys.” Max addresses the team in bits and pieces as the lines change. “Hold steady. Ten to play and we've got this.”

 

And they have got it. The Piranhas make push after push, but Scott and Ethan and Tucker and Fish hold them back. Ross freezes the puck on a shot from that ridiculously fast rookie, and the kid somehow tumbles over himself as he’s trying to pull back from picking up a rebound that never came, and lands right on top of Ross.

Fisher is right there to drag him away, and then Lock from the Piranhas takes exception to Fish touching the rookie, and Scott and William automatically both reach out to push Tiny back onto the bench.

The referee separates Fisher and Lock before they can do more than snarl at each other, and neither of them gets a penalty.

The rookie sounds confused as he settles back in with his team. Scott’s up at that end of the bench, so he can hear the conversation with the Piranhas back-up.

“I tried to apologise, but he just… stared at me. It was kind of creepy.”

“Goalies are weird, Luke.” The back-up responds, as if he’s not one himself. “Aren’t they?” The last comment is addressed to Jonny, who’s leaning on the boards as close as he can get to the end of the Huskies’ bench without drifting into Piranha territory. Apparently they’re friends.

“Yep.” Jonny agrees, cheerfully. “He does that. Like he doesn’t have a soul.”

Tucker comes off, and Scott goes on and misses the rest of that conversation.

 

Callum hasn’t forgotten about the party, and he texts Leah while they’re all getting dressed. Her answer comes through when they’re on the A34.

“She said no.” He looks genuinely upset about it, and Scott manages not to laugh.

“We’ll work on it.” Tiny leans across the aisle and Callum drops his phone into his lap so he can defend his chips. “We’ll find a reason she’ll agree to.”

 

*

 

Scott answers automatically when the phone on his desk rings, most of his attention still focused on the screens in front of him as he tries to figure out why the spreadsheet formula isn’t working.

“Scott Howard.”

“It’s me.”

Scott turns his full attention to the call. Felicity almost never rings him at work, they communicate by text unless it’s really urgent.

“Hey. Everything okay?”

“I got the job!” Her excitement is clear down the line.

“That’s fantastic! I knew you would! I’m so proud of you.”

“They said it was an easy choice, I was by far the best candidate.”

“Well of course you were!” Even the idea that they could pick anybody else over his wife seems crazy. “When do you start?”

“End of next month. They need some time to hand over my current role.”

“Plenty of time to get organised then!”

They both laugh, because honestly, Felicity’s already organised. It’s what she does.

“Anyway, just wanted to let you know asap.” Felicity pronounces ASAP like it’s a word rather than an acronym. “I’ll tell you all about it tonight.”

“Looking forward to it.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Scott grins as he puts the phone down, and looks around for somebody to share the good news with.

 

*

 

“Hey, Max, have you got a sec?”

“Of course.” Max looks concerned. Scott’s not normally somebody who needs a one on one with the coach. “Let’s take over the small sitting room.”

There’s nobody in there, although Scott has no doubt that Max would have thrown them out if necessary.

“What’s up?”

“Felicity’s got a promotion.”

“That’s great news!” Max looks confused, though, as to why this needed a private chat. “It’s local, right? You’re not moving away?”

“No, not moving, it’s in the same place.”

“Phew! For a moment there I thought you were going to tell me you wanted a release.” There’s a long moment when Max picks up the expression on Scott’s face. “No, Scott, we need you.”

“It’s not certain.” Scott breaks eye contact. “But she’s going to be working longer hours, and if I need to be there for the kids…  Family’s going to come first.” This is non-negotiable, and Max will understand that.

“Is it the logistics?” Max sits down on the nearest chair.

“Mostly. We’re already relying on their friends’ parents too much for help with the school run and after school clubs. I can’t be out four nights a week at training. Felicity doesn’t start the new job until next month but she’ll be putting more hours for the handover, and we’re going to try it, but I just wanted to warn you that it probably won’t be sustainable…”

“Don’t give up just yet.” Max tells him in his Coach voice. “We’ll find a way. You’ve had our backs, you’ve always looked out for the boys, the team’s going to have your back now.”

“Um. Okay.” Scott’s a little taken aback by the vehemence. “Thanks.”

 

It’s not a massive shock when he gets called in for a meeting with Leah and Stan the following week. If anything, though, a week of Felicity working slightly longer hours has already shown that the current system isn’t sustainable. He’s spending way too long driving back and forth collecting kids from friends’ houses and delivering them to clubs and before-school breakfasts, there’s no time left to breathe. If they’re trying to talk him into staying, it’s going to be a tough one for them.

Max and William are there too, and Scott tries not to feel like he’s being ganged up on.

“Max has told us about your change in circumstances.” Leah explains, although he’d figured that out. “And first off - actually, first off, please pass our congratulations on to Felicity.”

“I will, thank you.”

“So, secondly, we want to help. We don’t want to lose you on the team, you’re too valuable as a player and a person and we’d like to do whatever we can to help you keep playing.”

“Can you put a few extra hours in the day?” Scott tries for a joke.

“I’ve got Jo working on that.” Stan tells him, and actually if there’s anybody who could make the days longer, it would probably be Jo Zhang. “But in the meantime, we’ve got a couple of ideas we wanted to run past you and Felicity.”

“Okay…”

“Obviously we didn’t offer you a room in the Hall because you have a family.” Leah takes over again. “And that wasn’t going to work for anybody. But, the gatehouse is empty now, and if you want it, it’s yours.” She goes on to name a monthly rent that’s about half what Scott pays for their current house.

“Um. That’s a great offer, but the main issue is child care, really.”

“That’s easy. You’ve got a team of babysitters right here.” Stan waves a hand to suggest _here in this building_ rather than _here in this room_.

“Jamie asked right back when we started if he could be flexible in his office hours if you needed him to do school runs.” Leah explains.

“Nobody’s forgetting that you took him in when he didn’t have anywhere else to go.” William chips in. “He thinks of you as family, and he’s not the only one. If you need school runs or training runs or… ballet or whatever, we’ll run up a schedule and make sure that if you’re at work, somebody’s there to look after your kids, supervise homework, get them where they need to be.”

Scott’s smile is mostly at the thought of anybody ever getting Maisie anywhere near a ballet class.

“I…”

“Talk to Felicity.” Max stops him. “We don’t need an answer right now. But you’ve given a lot to this organisation and we’ll give back what we can.”

“It takes a village, isn’t that the phrase?” Stan smiles. “And from a purely selfish point of view, I really miss when my great nephews were young and I love having the kids around.”

“I… uh. Thank you. I’ll talk to Felicity.”

 

Scott drives home with his brain whirling.

 

 

*  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Puppy naming survey stays open until midnight on 15th September!](https://www.surveymonkey.co.uk/r/S339Q7Y)


	9. Devon Moore

Devon doesn’t want to move to stupid _stinking_ England. They’re not even going to London or somewhere cool. Dad’s going to be working at a big university just like back home, but instead of living in a city where something might actually happen, Mom wants to live in some stupid English village because she thinks it’s _cute_.

And Rae gets to stay back home because she’s already at college, but Devon gets dragged over here to an English high school where they’re probably going to expect him to play _soccer_ and he’s not very good at soccer and he doesn’t _like_ sports that he’s not very good at.

And it’s not like he actually thought he was going to get drafted in a couple of years or anything, but he was kind of counting on a sports scholarship for college and it’s not like anybody could scout him while he’s stuck over here in _Europe_. And not even in one of the countries where they actually play hockey. Like, if Dad had got a placement to Switzerland or Sweden or somewhere it might have been okay, but _England_?

This _sucks_.

 

*

 

Devon hates his new school. Pretty much the only good thing about it is that he's in year twelve and he doesn't have to wear a uniform.

Everything else is bullshit.

Back home, he'd been on the hockey team and he'd had some kind of status around school. Here, nobody gives a shit. He was kind of expecting high school to be just like at home but with a soccer team instead of the football and hockey teams, but it's like these kids just don't care. He’s got no idea who’s on the team, and nobody has mentioned seeing the school team play.

And he's kind of struggling in class because all the subjects are taught different to how he's used to.

And when Rae told him he'd be fine because he'd be the cool American kid and people would want to be friends with him? Total bull.

It's his seventeenth birthday in a couple weeks, and Mom and Dad have asked him if he wants to have his friends over, order in some pizzas or something, and Devon doesn't want to tell them that he's not sure anybody would show up.

 

*

 

Most of the kids vanish from school as soon as the three thirty bell goes, but some of the year 12 and 13 classes go on until five.

Devon doesn't mind the later finish because he starts later some days, and that's okay.

His Biology class finished at four, but Devon stayed back to talk to the teacher about some stuff that just wasn't making sense, so it's more like half past by the time he's sorting through the books in his locker to make sure that he's got everything he needs for his homework. The halls are quiet, so it's easy to hear that somebody’s running.

Several somebodies.

Devon closes his locker and puts his bag on the floor, digging his phone out of his pocket to see if he's got any messages now it's a civilised time back home. The footsteps get louder, and then a couple of kids come skidding around the corner and almost fall down the short flight of steps.

The uniform does make the kids all look the same, particularly the little ones who Devon never really looks at anyway.

“Come on!” One of them grabs the boy who’d almost fallen on the stairs, dragging at his sleeve. “They're catching up!”

They start moving again, but the kid’s struggling to catch his breath, and the next moment there are more running footsteps and a couple of bigger boys appear at the top of the steps.

“There they are!”

Devon stands back in the gap between two banks of lockers, apparently unnoticed, and thumbs open the camera on his phone. These kids are also in uniform, so they've got to be younger than him. Year 11, maybe.

He starts filming, makes sure he's got both their faces as they come charging down after the smaller boys.

“Come back here, you little shits!” The faster of the older boys has caught up with the slowest of the younger ones, and the kid’s friends stop to defend him. “Don't fucking run away from-”

Devon grabs his shoulder. “Why don't you let go of him?” He suggests.

“What the fuck?” He actually loosens his grip on the kid enough for him to wriggle free, before his buddy comes running at Devon.

Devon drops his phone into his open bag and uses the guy’s momentum to spin him crashing into the lockers.

“Don't fucking start with me.” The shock of his appearance and intervention has brought the older kids to a stop. “What the fuck’s happening?”

“None of your business. Stay out of it.”

“Nope.” Devon shakes his head. “Tell you what, why don't you fuck off?”

They look at each other, and it's one of those moments where things could go badly wrong for Devon. He's not sure why the younger kids haven't taken the chance to get the hell out of here.

“Why don't you fuck off? There's two of us.”

“Yeah, but I've got photos of you that I'm quite happy to share with the staff.”

Devon doesn't have any friends, he might as well suck up to teachers. It's not going to make his social life any worse. If he gets in a fight it will neatly complete the list of reasons for his parents to be disappointed with him since they dragged him over here.

“I can fix that.” The first guy steps towards him, obviously planning to find Devon’s phone.

Devon shrugs. “Already on the cloud.”

“Leave it, Gaz.” The second guy catches his friend's elbow. “Not worth it. None of this lot’s worth it.”

Gaz shoots Devon a look of disgust, and then glares at the kids. “And you stay the fuck away from me, got it?”

Two of the kids glare right back at him, although the third one’s nodding nervously, and then Gaz and his buddy finally leave.

Devon leans back against the lockers and tries to pretend his heart isn't racing and his palms aren't sweaty.

“That was awesome!”

“That was so cool!”

Now that he's got time to look, the braver two kids really are identical. Like, they're actually twins.

“What was all that about?”

“Gaz and Mitch don't like me.” The third kid says.

“Why not?”

“Because he's Asian?” One of the twins says, as if that was obvious. “And Gaz is a racist twat.”

The other twin jumps, and scrambles to get his buzzing phone out of his pocket.

“It's Jamie. We're late.” He looks at the screen before he answers.

“Sorry, sorry, just coming out now. Yeah. Yeah. Two minutes.” He hangs up. “Come on Lewis, if Jamie thinks we're late we must be _really_ late.”

“Or actually still early.” Lewis straightens his blazer and settles his backpack onto both shoulders. “Jamie's rubbish at timekeeping.”

“Anyway, we have to GO.” He turns to head back up the corridor, and then pauses. “Um.” He looks at Devon. “Are you walking out?”

Devon grins and checks that his locker’s shut properly. “Yeah. You heading the same way?”

 

So he ends up strolling out to the front of the school with the three younger boys, casual like they just happen to be acquaintances going in the same direction and not like he’s some kind of bodyguard.

There’s a car waiting in the pick-up zone, and Devon’s not great at European cars but he knows a heap of shit when he sees one and _that_ is a heap of shit.

One of the twins sprints over to the car and wrenches the passenger door open - Devon hasn’t got used to that not being the driver’s side yet - and leans into the car to talk to the driver. Jamie, presumably.

He emerges quickly. “Come on, Arun! Jamie’ll drop you home.”

That gets Devon off the hook for making sure the kids all get home okay, anyway. Not that they’d asked, but he wasn’t about to leave them on their own with those two assholes around somewhere.

“I thought you were late?” Arun’s walking to the car anyway.

“Yeah, but Jamie can drop us at training and then run you home. It’s cool.” The other twin gets in the back of the car with his brother, leaving the front seat free for Arun. Before he shuts the door, he leans out and waves to Devon. “Thank you!”

Devon raises a hand to wave back, and idly wonders as the car pulls away what kind of training they’ve got. Out of school soccer, probably.

At least _somebody_ in this school does sports.

 

*

 

Devon’s claimed the back corner table in the sixth form common room as his own. He might be the new kid in school, but everybody else in Year 12 is new to the sixth form, so nobody had any territory he’d be stealing.

He doesn’t really get why Years 12 and 13 are called the sixth form. The other grades are 7 through 11, not 1 through 5, and anyway why would the top two years just be one form?

English schools don’t make any sense.

The table’s in the back corner, furthest from the door, so he has to squeeze past other more popular people to get to it, but at least he doesn’t have to kick other people off when he wants to sit there.

Not that he could, probably.

 

He’s already finished the sandwich he brought for lunch, and he’s just opening his chips - _crisps_ \- when somebody pulls out one of the chairs at his table and sits down.

Devon glances up, and when he sees the guy’s just sitting waiting for him, he pulls his earbuds out.

“Can I help you?”

“My brother said that an American sixth former punched Gaz Roper in the face yesterday. I’m guessing that must be you?”

“Is your brother Arun?”

“He is.”

“I didn’t punch anybody, I just told them to get lost.”

“Doesn’t matter.” The guy’s staring at him, like he’s trying to figure him out. “Roper’s a racist piece of shit and I’m glad you were there.”

“Me too.” Devon admits.

“Kavi.” The guy holds out a hand.

“Devon.”

“You’re in my General Studies, yeah?”

Devon frowns. “Wednesdays at nine?”

“Yeah.”

“Then yeah.”

“Cool.” Kavi glances around as the door opens and some more people come in. “Hey, guys, over here!”

 

*

 

Devon spent the first month of school finding places he could sit and things he could do so that it wasn't obvious that he didn't have any friends, and now all of a sudden it seems like he's never on his own.

Kavi picks the seat next to him in Gen Studies on Wednesday, and his friends just follow like it's normal. Rachel’s also in his Biology class, so they walk there together after lunch and Devon finds himself sitting with the smart kids - and that he can keep up with them.

When a group study project is announced in European History, Zach twists in his seat to find Devon and wave him over.

That just leaves Spanish. Devon had been worried that European Spanish would be different to American Spanish and that his accent would be all wrong, but the teacher’s from Peru and she seems to like him. When she asks them to break into small groups for discussions, Devon finds himself looking around for his new friends, even though none of the people he's acquired through Kavi are in this class. He reminds himself that all the new people he's met have been really nice once he had a reason to talk to them, steels himself and leans over to the next table.

“Can I join you?”

“Sure!” She looks surprised but not pissed, and she’s already pulling her papers together so Devon’s got room to sit down. He's been here for four weeks, he should know her name…

“Jennie?” He guesses, and she grins.

“Yes. And Kyle.”

Kyle’s not very good at Spanish, Devon remembers that now, but he's also remembering Rachel’s friends explaining something to him in Bio, and so maybe it's not that big a deal.

“Cool.” He grins at them both, and drags his chair over to join them.

 

They're kicking a ball around at lunch, Devon, Kavi, Zach, Josh, and a couple of Josh’s buddies from Math whose names Devon hasn't got yet. It's not soccer, it's just… kicking a ball around.

They've taken over a corner of the yard, and Rachel's sitting on the low wall with the girls from Bio. Lisa’s got a massive crush on Josh and everybody's pretending not to know about it - everybody except Josh, who's apparently completely oblivious to the whole thing.

Arun and the twins are nearby, using the protective bubble of Arun’s big brother to keep idiots like Gaz Roper at bay.

“You're good at that.” The twins appear either side of him when Devon takes a break and sits down on an empty stretch of the wall.

“I thought you didn't play proper football in America?”

“That's just kicking a ball around.” Devon points out. “Not really soccer _or_ football.”

“Were you on the football team at your old school?”

Devon’s quickly come to realise that English kids think that all American high schools are like the ones on tv and in the movies.

“Nope.” The inbuilt rivalry between the football and hockey teams makes his disdain automatic. “I played hockey.”

He's not expecting the twins to react like they do.

“Ice hockey?”

“That's so cool!”

“We play hockey. You should come down to training with us.”

“I… what?” Devon blinks. There's a hockey team here?

“You finish at four today, yeah?” Devon’s just wondering how on earth they know that when he realises it's exactly a week since he told Gaz Roper to fuck off.

Just one week.

“Yeah…?”

“Cool. Are you busy this evening?”

“No…?” What are they planning?

“Then you should come down the rink with us. Jamie picks us up after school.”

Devon’s not sure why they think he’d be interested in watching a kids’ practice session when he can’t play himself anymore, but now that the idea’s out there he’s surprised to find that he kind of likes it.

“Um. Sure. Why not?”

 

He texts Mom to let her know that he’s going to hang out with some friends after school, deliberately failing to mention that his friends are eleven years old and that he’s going to an ice rink.

Mom’s either going to worry that he’ll be upset watching any kind of hockey when he’s had to leave it behind, or she’s going to completely fail to understand that this might be important enough to him to make him upset. He doesn’t know which would be more annoying.

 

The twins grant him automatic front-seat privileges when Jamie picks them up, and as soon as he gets in the car Devon’s reevaluating. He’d assumed that Jamie was the twins’ older brother, but he looks nothing like them. He’s also older than Devon was expecting, maybe twenty-one.

Jamie doesn’t seem to think it’s at all weird that the older kid who got rid of some bullies for the twins last week is now coming to watch their hockey training.

When they get to the rink, the twins vanish into the locker room with their kit bags, and Devon’s left to follow Jamie out towards the ice. Jamie goes to greet a couple of guys who must be the coaches, and Devon gravitates to the boards. This place is… tired, it makes his old school facilities look pretty awesome, but it smells the same and he’s really _missed_ this.

He really misses hockey.

It’s not like he didn’t know that, but standing here, staring out over the ice with the familiar clatter of kids and kit behind him, it really hits him that he used to have this almost every day and it’s been _weeks_ since he got on the ice.

 

Lewis and Toby’s team isn’t particularly good, but Devon guesses that for kids of their age in a country where hockey’s not that popular, they’re not doing too bad.

“Do you play, then?”

Devon’s forgotten what the coaches are called. One of them’s out on the ice, talking to the kids, and the other one’s leaning on the boards next to Devon.

“Used to, back home.”

“Why’d you quit?” Devon glances at the guy out of the corner of his eye, but it seems to be a genuine question.

“Moved over here for Dad’s work. I didn’t want to quit, but...” he shrugs.

“No ice hockey in England, right?” The guy doesn’t sound like he’s chirping, it’s more like he does actually get that nobody thinks you can play over here.

“That’s what I thought.” Devon admits. He doesn’t want to say that he’d been so pissed about losing hockey that he couldn’t bear to even google to see if there was anything here. Finding out that there was one team a hundred miles away would have been even worse than knowing there was nothing.

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen on Saturday.”

“I also coach the under 18s, if you want to try out.”

“I-” Devon wants to say yes. “I don’t have any of my kit over here.”

“We can find you some stuff.” Jamie’s wandered over while Devon was talking. “My gear will probably fit you for now if you want to get out on the ice.”

It hadn’t been obvious when he was sitting in the car, but Jamie’s definitely built like a hockey player.

“You okay with that?” The coach looks between them. “You happy to do this with no notice?”

“Sure.” Devon feels a flicker of excitement. “I’m always ready to skate.”

“Cool.” Jamie takes a couple of steps away. “Come on then.”

 

They head around the ice, away from the locker room where the twins got changed, and Jamie takes him down a side corridor to a door that’s just marked _Huskies_.

There’s a number pad by the door, and Jamie punches in a code to unlock it.

“We need to keep it locked because our gear stays here,” he explains, apparently missing that Devon knows none of the background to what he’s talking about, “and actual keys get lost all the time so they went with the code. At least it’s unlocked properly for games and training, because it’s a nightmare trying to do it with gloves on!” He pushes open the door. “I mean, I guess we could take our gloves off, but…”

This looks like a proper locker room, although one that’s smaller and older than it wants to be. There’s a logo painted on the wall, and the stalls are all labelled with names and hung with gear like there’s only ever one person who uses each spot.

“This one’s me.” Jamie goes over to _Garcia_ and starts digging through his kit. “You’re a bit smaller than me but most of this will fit and we can borrow Mark’s for the rest, he won’t mind.” He waves vaguely at the next stall. “What size skates are you?”

 

It turns out that Mark’s gear is a better fit than Jamie’s, and Devon ends up borrowing most of what he needs from the stall labelled _Barnes_.

“You’ll need Callum’s helmet, though.” Jamie crosses the room to _Jenkins_. “Since you’re under 18.”

Callum Jenkins wears a face cage, apparently.

 

It feels weird, walking through an unfamiliar rink in somebody else’s gear, but at the same time it feels like coming home.

“I haven’t skated for weeks.” Devon admits to the coach, once they get back out to the ice pad.

“No worries.” He’s going to have to get Jamie to tell him this guy’s name again. “Stick up this end and just get a feel for the ice to start with.”

The kids are all occupied at the other end, practicing line rushes against their only goalie, so Devon skates a few loops above the blue line until he doesn’t feel quite so rusty.

The coach tosses him a puck, and Devon plays around with it for a bit, getting a feel for the borrowed stick, and then takes a shot at the empty net.

 

Devon doesn’t even realise that the kids are taking a break until the other coach skates over and starts feeding him pucks, and even the realisation that they’re all hanging around watching him doesn’t put him off when the guy challenges him to keep the puck away. It’s just like any other time he’s been on the ice for fun, goofing around with the guys before practice started.

“You play forward?” The coach herds him in towards the benches.

“Yeah. On the wing, normally.” Devon gratefully accepts a water bottle.

“Are you free this evening? Under 18s are here at six.”

“I guess. I need to call my parents.”

“Because if you get your parents’ permission, you’re welcome to skate with us today. Kind of an unofficial tryout.”

 

  
Mom insists on coming down to the rink, even though he’s almost seventeen and he doesn’t need a parent sitting there watching, but actually it’s kind of reassuring to have her there. Like when he first started.

The under 18s seem like nice enough guys, but Devon’s aware quite quickly that he’s better than they are. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, though, if he played here. He could see himself as the leading goal scorer, maybe that would help on college applications.

There are more coaches here now, different guys, and Devon’s conscious of them talking to each other and looking over at him.

At the end of the session, Jamie takes him back to the locker room where he left his clothes.

“How do you think it went?”

“Okay. I had fun.” Devon carefully returns the borrowed helmet to the correct stall. “Do you think it went okay?”

“Yeah.” Jamie smiles, like he knows something Devon doesn’t. “I reckon it did.”

 

*

 

Devon’s phone rings with a number he doesn’t know about an hour after he’s got home, taken a shower and inhaled his dinner.

“Hello?”

“Hey, is this Devon?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Hi, this is Max Davies, I was watching the under 18s training session earlier today?”

“Hi.” Devon still has no idea who this is, and that must come through in his voice.

“I’m the guy with the crazy hair.” It sounds like he’s smiling, like he has to fall back on this description pretty often.

To be fair, Devon now knows exactly who he’s speaking to. One of the guys who was watching, one of the guys who didn’t actually do any coaching, had a mass of curly hair that Devon had noticed even through the nerves of an impromptu try-out.

“Anyway, I’ll get to the point. I was impressed with how you played today.”

“Thank you.” Devon smiles. It’s cool that somebody noticed.

“And I’d like to offer you the chance to try out with another team, if you’re interested?”

“Sure.” Devon’s interested. Maybe playing on the under 18s would be good for his stats, but if he can play up, play for the under 20s, that would look even better on college applications and he’s going to have to take what he can get to bolster his hockey resume.

“I’m not sure how much Jamie explained, but I’m the coach for the Huskies in the Premier league.”

Devon freezes.

“If we can get some kit together for you, are you free tomorrow evening?”

 

*

 

It's completely different, getting ready for training the next night. Maybe because he's had time to get nervous about it, maybe because this feels like so much more of a big deal. These are adults, this is the pro team - as much as you can call it that, in the second tier of British hockey.

They've scraped together a set of gear for him, based on what he'd borrowed the night before, since Mark Barnes needs his own stuff tonight. Devon gets changed in a stall that could be his own, if this goes well, and lets the buzz of the locker room wash over him.

 

Once he gets out on the ice, and they stop goofing around and start actually working, a couple of things are pretty obvious.

This team is a much higher standard than the juniors he trained with yesterday, but Devon's capable of keeping up.

He's competing for a spot on Barnes’ line, on the opposite wing to Jamie.

He's competing for Jenkins’ spot.

Jenkins knows it.

 

Jamie and Barnes are very welcoming, the kind of guys who finish each other’s sentences but still have room to look out for the new guy. Devon sticks with them when Max lets them stop for a water break.

“Who’s Leah talking to?” Barnes is looking up into the stands, and Jamie's head snaps around to follow his gaze.

“That's my Mom.” Devon admits.

“That's cool.” Barnes answers, as Jamie's still staring up at the girl talking to Mom. “Probably sorting out your registration.”

“Huh?”

“Leah's our manager.” Jamie tells him without looking around. “She'll need your details to get you registered to the team.”

“You think I'm in, then?” Devon wasn't expecting it to be this quick.

“Well, I can't read Max’s mind.” Barnes leans over the boards to wedge his water bottle back on the shelf and jerks his head towards the conversation in the stands. “But that's a really good sign.” He glances at Jamie and sighs. “Come on, back to work.” He physically turns Jamie until he's facing away from the stands, pushing him back towards the team. “You can pine later.”

“I'm not pining!” Jamie starts skating, and Barnes laughs like they've had this conversation a hundred times.

Devon gets back to work.

 

Max calls him aside after everybody's changed at the end of the session.

“So, what do you think?”

Devon blinks. Surely that question should go the other way?

“Can you see yourself playing with us?” Max continues. “Four training sessions and two games a week? No more weekends to yourself until April?”

Devon looks over at Mom, who's standing a few steps away, in earshot but not interfering, and back at Max.

“I'd love that.”

“I have to tell you right away that we can't pay you.” Max explains, and Devon hadn't even thought about getting paid to play. “I mean, rookie pay is pretty much just pocket money anyway, but you don't have the right visa to work here and so we can't technically employ you.”

“Okay.”

“But we'll sort gear out for you and so on.”

“Okay.”

“Leah’s got your details from your Mum, so we can put in the request to get you registered to the team. As you're not currently playing for anybody else it should just be a formality. We might even have you on the roster officially by Saturday’s game.”

“ _This_ Saturday?”

Max laughs. “Yeah. You ready for that?”

“ _Yes!”_ Devon looks at Mom again, and she's laughing.

So much for having nothing to do on his birthday.

 

*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Last chance to help name the puppy...](https://www.surveymonkey.co.uk/r/S339Q7Y)


	10. Vince King

League table Friday 30th September 2016

  
The house feels particularly busy this weekend. It seems like everybody who has a girlfriend has her staying over, and since Scott and his wife are doing something down in the gatehouse, measuring or something, Scott’s kids are up in the main house.

Jamie’s unofficially in charge of the kids, since he lived with them over the summer, but most people are gathered in the big communal room anyway. There’s a game tonight, and they’re mostly just chilling until the guys who don’t live here turn up for lunch.

They have to give a certain amount of notice if they’ve got girlfriends or other visitors here for meals, but Soňa, Andi and Gabbi are all listed on the calendar hanging in the kitchen.

It's weird, how the place feels different with more girls in. Not that Leah doesn’t count as a girl, but there's only one of her amongst nearly twenty guys, and half the time they seem to forget she's not just one of the boys.

Gabbi and Soňa are both staying for the weekend, visiting from their universities. They're pretty different -  Soňa’s abandoned Jan and has been helping Tucks with some kind of improvement he’s trying to make to the website, and Gabbi’s curled up on the couch with Mark, painting her nails and chipping in on the conversation Jamie's having with the twins.

Vince has got so used to Mark-and-Jamie that it's kind of a shock to remember that Mark’s got a girlfriend he's crazy about, and it's thrown him once or twice already to see Mark attached at the hip to Gabbi instead of Jamie.

Andi’s around more often, as she's local. Max is on kitchen duty this morning, but Andi’s absorbed in teaching Maisie that game with the string, what's it called, cat’s cradle. Seeing her focus on Scott’s daughter makes Vince wonder if Max is going to find himself have The Conversation some time in the near future - another one of the lads lost to the cause.

 

There's not that many of them in relationships, actually. Besides the hashtag-goals marriage that Scott and Felicity make work around two full time jobs, a hockey career and three busy kids, there's only really Jonny who's got a girlfriend who's not here today - and Vince doesn't really give that the same status. The kid's got game, for a seventeen year old goalie, but this is the third girlfriend he's had in the year and a bit that Vince has known him, and to be honest he's not expecting Jonny to stay with this one any longer than the last two.

Ross is a strange bunny, and he'll either produce some inexplicably hot long term girlfriend out of nowhere or he'll just keep living with his dad forever. William picks up now and again, Petr's got that girl in town who's been stringing him along for ages. Jamie's still working on saying complete sentences to girls, and Callum has absolutely no idea what to do with the girls at college who are prepared to overlook his total lack of game since he's technically a professional athlete.

Tucker and Fish have their weird co-dependency thing going on, so probably at some point they will both get girlfriends and double date, and Tiny’s just got no idea how to approach girls. One day some capable girl is going to decide to date him and he'll just roll with it.

Vince has always been perfectly happy being the team Lothario. There are a lot of girls out there who want to date a hockey player who's got the looks and the charisma - and of the unattached guys, that's really just Vince.

Or, it was. 

That's twice now he's got home early on a Saturday morning to find Ethan strolling home at around the same time. Ethan just nods, like it's a mutual respect thing, and Vince…

It sounds petty.

It  _ is _ petty.

But last year, Vince’s jersey sold more replicas than anybody else's. The queue when it was his turn to sign autographs might not have been longer than Petr's or Jonny’s but it did have significantly more girls in it.

Ethan’s jersey is outselling Vince's. He's losing what Ifan laughs and calls  _ The Vince King Fan Club _ \- and he's losing them to Ethan.

And it's not like Vince  _ wants _ the teenage girls hanging around the dressing room door, and it's not like he's having any trouble picking up when he wants to, but.

He's not used to having competition.

 

Ethan’s not even trying. He's not coming out and flirting with the fans like Petr does, he's not throwing pucks or showing off right in front of anybody specific. He just plays hockey and keeps to himself and sometimes Vince meets him on the driveway first thing in the morning.

 

*

 

The new kid shows up for lunch, trying and failing to hide how out of his depth he feels.

Vince gives him the tour, because Leah’s busy sorting out some kind of issue with jerseys, and because it's not fair to leave the kid to Petr.

Petr's been making a big deal about getting a rookie. He's kind of put out that last year Scott was Jamie's go-to veteran, Mark’s so self-sufficient that he doesn't seem to be a rookie, and Callum… Vince isn't entirely sure how Fish and Tucks managed to pull off getting Callum to follow Tiny around like this, but either way, Petr wants a rookie and he doesn't have one.

Devon's even younger than Callum - he's seventeen today, like it's actually his birthday, and he's coming in from a US high school team. He’s the year below Jonny and Callum at college. The last thing he needs is the full force of Petr’s unbounded enthusiasm without somebody sensible to tone it down a bit for him. Vince really isn’t sure  _ why  _ Petr’s so adamant about having a rookie. He suspects that Petr thinks it’s some kind of status symbol and hasn’t really considered that he’d have to actually look out for the rookie in question.

So, Vince volunteered to show Devon around. He's not intending to adopt a rookie, but at least this way the kid can get to know the team and then decide if he  _ wants _ Petr looking out for him.

 

“It's like something out of Downton Abbey!” Devon stops at the foot of the main staircase. “I didn't think people actually lived in houses like this!”

“They don't, normally! This place used to be a conference centre until Stan bought the team.” Vince leads him past the stairs. “Just bedrooms up there. There are offices and little sitting rooms down here-” Vince opens a few doors at random as they go down the corridor “-so this is where you find Leah, or any of the guys doing front office work. These rooms are good if you just want to chill or whatever without having all the guys there.” He opens the double doors at the end of the corridor. “And this is the ballroom.”

“The  _ ballroom _ ?!”

“Yeah. I mean, not like we have big parties or whatever. Maybe we'll do a fans’ night or something. Mostly we just use it for like indoor football or whatever.”

“Dodgeball.” Devon's looking around the empty room with a thoughtful expression.

“We haven't tried that. Good idea, though, I'll suggest it.” Vince pauses. “Or you can, since it's your idea.”

“I don't mind.”

“Anyway, the kitchens and dining room are back this way.” Vince leads him back through the entrance hall. “Leah will have a chat with you about doing some hours here - we all help out with kitchen prep and stuff, you won't have to do much because you're a full time student and you don't live in, but you’ll have to know how to work the dishwasher and whatever.” He shows Devon the dining room, and then takes him over to what were originally the kitchen stairs. “And down here’s the best bit.”

At the foot of the stairs he gestures vaguely to the laundry room. “Utility room, which is where we keep the laundry machines and the dog’s stuff, and then through here…” he pushes open the doors to the gym.

“Cool.” Devon draws the word out, clearly impressed.

“This is here whenever you want to use it - you’ll get a key to the back doors. If you've got friends who want to use it and will take it seriously, have a chat with Leah and she might let them.”

“Awesome.” Devon drifts further into the room, running a hand over the nearest piece of equipment.

 

*

 

They're facing the Pumas tonight, which is always going to be a tough game, even on home ice.

They lost last time they played them, three weeks ago up in Stoke, although at least they put up enough of a fight that Steve Carlton had to pull their back up nettie and put Chris Bailey out instead.

Bailey’s starting tonight, so the Huskies don't even have the advantage of being underestimated.

The Pumas are a physical team, Josh Lewis, Brett Macarthy and Nathan Johnson always ready to stick in an elbow or drop the gloves, but at least the Huskies have the deterring presence of Tiny. The Pumas have some tough guys but they don't have an out and out enforcer, and none of them want to fight Tiny. He's beaten Lewis before, and neither of the others have taken him up on his offers to go.

The Huskies can push back, though, beyond Tiny's glowering presence. Fish is always happy to stick up for teammates, and Ethan's knack for planting an elbow or a slightly-late check when the ref isn't looking is a lot less annoying now that he's on Vince's team and not playing against him. Jan’s turning out to be unflappably solid, it's really difficult to physically push him off the puck. Petr's sunny disposition and innocent expressions get him out of a lot of trouble.

So, they're not supposed to win this game, but that kind of attitude will lose a game before the puck even drops, and the Huskies have never been quitters.

 

Jan wins the very first faceoff, and they catch the Pumas off-guard. The puck comes to Vince right on the blue line, he finds William exactly where he's supposed to be, and their first shot on goal is less than twenty seconds into the game.

Bailey stops it.

The Pumas win the next faceoff, and Lewis is away with the puck, off up the ice and right into the waiting wall of Tucker and Fish. Lewis has gone in without support, and Tucks barges him off the puck so Fisher can steal it and turn the play back down the ice.

 

It's exhausting, this kind of end to end hockey, and being 0-0 at the end of the first doesn't feel like a fair representation of the effort they're putting in.

The only positive is that the Pumas have to be tiring too, they've had the bus journey here to put up with too and for the first time this season the Huskies aren't short benched. There's probably a joke in there somewhere about being short on the bench, but Vince can't quite get it together right now and Mark, Ethan and Ross are all miserably lacking in a sense of humour when it comes to jokes about their height.

 

Max carries on rotating Devon in as tenth forward during the second, sending him out for a few shifts in Callum's place, once in Jamie's. The kid hasn't done anything spectacular but it's his first game and if he avoids cocking up that’s a success.

They're still 0-0 at 32:18 when they finish a penalty kill. It's been a really long shift, and Vince is glad to follow Max in over the boards as Ifan and Petr go out.

“Jamie.” Max waves him out as William falls in through the gate. Vince flops onto the bench, takes the water bottle that Mark hands him, and watches Tucker knock Macarthy off the puck.

Fish is there to scoop the puck away, and then it's on Ifan's stick and flying up the left wing. Ifan passes to Petr and then shifts his weight backwards so that Dieter Lang slams himself into the boards, much to the delight of the crowd. Petr dekes around the other defenseman, passes to Jamie without looking and continues on towards the net so that he's ready to pick up a rebound.

There is no rebound, though, because Jamie's buried the puck, lifting it over Bailey’s outstretched pad and into the back of the net.

Petr shakes off Sebastian Specht, who’s forcibly removing him from the crease, and as Jamie turns from yelling his delight at the fans he's there with one of his trademark over exuberant hugs.

Vince only plays with Petr on the power play, but he's had his share of those hugs.

 

They stretch their lead to two goals at the start of the third, when Ethan releases a rocket from the blue line that just  _ sings _ over Bailey’s shoulder. 

The Pumas don't like it, of course, and Vince recognises their expressions from those few weeks last season when the Huskies were unexpected not shit. There's a look that passes between guys on the other team, a look that says _we can't lose to the_ ** _Huskies_** like there's no greater shame.

They pull themselves together, and Lewis sets up his linemate for an absolute beauty that skips over Ross’ glove and bounces into the back of the net.

Vince likes Josh Lewis, normally, they were friends back in juniors and they still have a laugh when they meet, but he doesn't like the way that line goes back out on their next shift and embarrasses Ross again.

47:09 and they're tied.

 

Some coaches would shorten the bench in these circumstances, but Max keeps rolling the lines.

“Mark’s line-”

Callum’s hurdling the boards before Max can say if he wants Devon to go out instead, but given that Max doesn't react beyond sliding forwards so he'll be ready to go himself on the next change it looks like he meant for Callum to go anyway.

Vince glances over at William, and they share a smile. It hasn't escaped either of their attention that Callum's absolutely determined not to lose his spot to the new guy.

Maybe that's why there's a little more fire in Callum's game than anybody else has left in the back end of the third period, a little more power in his stride. He's listening, too, though, because he has to show that he works on Mark’s wing. It's just his place on the third line he's fighting for, not his place on the team.

He listens, when Mark calls for the puck, and he reads the play so that when Mark’s lanes are blocked by the Pumas defense, Callum's in the right spot to receive the pass and shoot.

Bailey blocks it, but he doesn't stop it and somehow Callum manages to get to the rebound while Mark’s conveniently in the way of the nearest defenseman - and this time he manages to bury it.

 

It's his first home goal, and the crowd go wild for a local boy. Mark gathers him up in a hug that's just as enthusiastic as his cellies with Jamie, and when they skate by for fist bumps Callum's grin is genuine, like he's forgotten for the moment that this is a personal contest as well as a team one. 

 

“Okay, boys,” Max tells them when the Pumas call a timeout on an offside whistle, “it's about to get interesting.”

It's pretty obvious that the Pumas are intending to get the puck down towards Ross and then pull Bailey for an extra attacker.

It's pretty obvious that the Huskies have to keep the pressure on and keep the play up near Bailey so that he has to stay in his net.

It's unlikely to be that easy.

 

There are still over six minutes left to play, and the crowd are caught up in the tension.

Petr loses the faceoff, and Scott and Ethan are desperately trying to hold the Pumas back. They push forwards, though, into the zone, and Bailey starts to skate for the bench just as Scott gets possession.

Johnson probably didn't mean to get his stick so close to Petr's skates. He's a little agitator but he's not actually stupid and now’s not the time for the Pumas to be pulling those kind of moves.

He probably didn't mean it, and maybe Petr wouldn't have fallen over if the ref had been looking the other way, but his arm’s up for a delayed penalty and the Pumas bench are yelling at Bailey to get back.

Vince has got one knee on the boards, ready to go if the guys can get clear and Ross can get in. Scott slams the puck over to Max, Petr's back on his feet, and the play’s moving as Ross finally has the space to skate for the bench much faster than Bailey had been moving. He launches himself at the boards, and Jamie and Devon are hauling him in by his jersey as Vince’s skates hit the ice, getting him clear in time for Max’s pass to hit Vince's tape and then it's just him and Bailey.

Bailey gets a pad to the puck, and that's enough for the whistle to go.

Johnson goes to the box. Ross goes back to his net. Vince stays out on the ice with his power play unit.

Faceoff is up by Bailey’s net, and the Pumas won't be pulling him in the next two minutes.

 

It’s not the kind of hockey that anyone on either team should be proud of. It’s messy, and anything that works is luck rather than skill for the most part, but when the penalty ends, there’s 03:42 left on the clock and the score is still 3-2 Huskies.

“Just don't let them score!” Max calls as they change lines. He’s dropping back to a defensive position, and he's expecting Vince to do the same when Jan’s line goes out. Callum, Devon and Tiny won't be leaving the bench unless the Huskies manage an insurance goal.

They don't manage the insurance goal.

They don't manage the insurance goal, but Max’s tactics work and Ross only faces two shots, the Pumas scrambling to keep possession and not let the Huskies have their chance at the empty net.

Play stops just once, for an offside call, but it takes an eternity for the clock to tick down and the buzzer to signal the Huskies’ first home win that actually counts this season.

 

To hear Stan in the bar afterward, you’d think he’d gone out there on the ice and won it himself. There’s something about his enthusiasm, though, that makes it okay. Vince doesn’t have time for armchair fans who debate every loss with the certainty that they could have done it better themselves, despite the fact that none of them can even skate, but Stan’s different. Of course Stan’s different.

Stan’s been there, done that. Worn the jersey for real. It might be decades since he played, but Stan’s coaching is still valid, and even if he doesn’t come down to the bench for most games because he just can’t stand up for the whole length of a match, he’s still part of this team.

It wouldn’t be inaccurate, after all, to say that they probably wouldn’t have won it without him.

 

*

 

The euphoria carries them into Sunday’s game.

They’ve played the Griffins three times already this year, twice in the preseason and once when it counted.  They’re starting to become familiar with each other, and that makes it both easier and harder. The Huskies are getting a feel for the Griffins’ systems, getting to know where the weakness are, but the same’s true in reverse.

The one thing the Huskies have got, though, is a reputation. Even after three games, the Griffins are still expecting them to be easy to beat.

 

The overriding emotion in the building after the final buzzer is disbelief. It’s on some of the Griffins’ faces, in the handshake line, and it’s clear in the reactions of the home fans. It wasn’t a rough game, the refereeing was balanced, and there’s nothing the fans can find to boo.

Vince isn’t the only Husky who can’t keep the smile off his face, and the Huskies fans are gathered in one corner, yelling and cheering while the Griffins fans manage polite applause.

_ Four point weekend _ .

They haven’t had a four point weekend since the end of October. That’s very close to a year.

Back in the locker room Max doesn’t even try to make himself heard over the noise. There’s nothing he’ll want to say after that that can’t wait until they’re on the bus, or home. Or at training tomorrow.

Vince gets his turn in the showers early - Callum got sent in first, because the water’s always cold to start with, and Devon and Mark end up last when the hot water’s already run out, if the yelping’s any indication. Vince is just sorting his hair out in front of one of the two spotty mirrors when Callum sidles over to where Tucker and Fish are just finishing dressing.

He looks furtive, so of course Vince listens in.

“It doesn’t matter.” Fish is explaining in response to whatever Callum asked. “He’s had a good game tonight.”

Callum glances over at Tiny with what he probably thinks is a reasonable level of subtlety. Tiny’s putting his shoes on and doesn’t notice.

“Yes, but. On other games.”

Fisher and Tucks exchange glances. “Best not to mess with the system, now it’s started. Mid-season changes aren’t always good.”

Vince has got no idea what they’re talking about.

“He’s worried about losing his bus buddy.” Ethan’s come over to use the other mirror, and has caught Vince eavesdropping. “Since he’s not the youngest rookie anymore.”

Vince snorts softly. “He hasn’t seen through that one yet?” Somehow Fish and Tucks had convinced Callum that it’s his job to sit next to Tiny on the bus. Tiny seems not to have noticed anything odd.

Ethan laughs, quietly enough not to attract attention. “Apparently not. And now I think he thinks that Devon’s not just after his spot on Mark’s line.”

When Vince looks over, Devon’s laughing at something Ifan is saying, oblivious to the occasional dirty looks Callum’s shooting him.

“Kids.” Vince shakes his head, as if he’s decades older instead of just a few years. Ethan laughs.

“Tell me about it.” He makes a final adjustment to his hair. “You coming to get chips before the bus goes?”

 

Most of the team had the same idea, so there’s a bit of a queue. Jamie catches up with them while they’re waiting.

“I’d better get something for Mark.” He comments, as Tiny’s collecting a bag that looks way too full for just one person. “Since he got stuck with last showers.” He looks kind of smug, though, because he had to put up with rookie duties last year and now that both Callum and Devon are here to share the suffering with Mark, Jamie gets out of it most of the time.

“Are you getting Devon’s?” Ethan asks, looking at Vince with a glint in his eye. Honestly, the kid’s only been here a couple of days, how is he Vince’s responsibility? Then again, Vince recognises the look on Ethan’s face, and it’s not like Tucks and Fish have a monopoly on pranking the rookies.

“Yeah, can do.” He’s already scanning the menu for the kids’ meals. It’s a classic, but that’s because it’s a good one. Plus, Devon’s going to get a toy with his food, so he’s got nothing to complain about, really.

Vince orders an extra portion of fries with his own food. No need to make the kid go hungry just for a joke.

 

*

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to everybody who took part in the naming the puppy - especially to the people who cared enough to go in and vote more than once.  
> I deliberately set up the survey so it was possible to vote multiple times, thinking that Petr would have figured that out and that he'd definitely vote more than once to try to make sure that Ester kept the name he'd given her, and that there would probably be fans of the team who would get over-invested. However, I only voted once and after all the votes were in, and after discussing it with the only other person who knew in advance that it was possible to cheat and who shared my hope that Petr's choice would win, I am really pleased to say that even if neither of us had voted at all the winning name would still have been Ester.  
> If you can't see the graphics, the final results were:  
> Ester: 51%  
> Hayley: 25%  
> Laika: 20%  
> Connie: 2%  
> Maddie: 2%


	11. Online Broadcasting I (Lecture Hall 3)

“Okay, everybody!” The chatter in the room dies down as Tristan calls for their attention. “I have the new assignments for you.”

That's not exactly news, today’s class is on the schedule as the start of the next assignment, but it's still exciting.

“Sports.” The screen behind Tristan is showing a montage of stills from sports documentaries. There are a lot of guys in shorts lifting weights.

This is the one that Lizzie’s least been looking forward to. _Online Broadcasting I_ covers three main topics during the semester - Charities, Sports, and Current Affairs. They've just finished the Charities section, and Sports starts today.

Lizzie's really not into sports, and also the guys in the group are so excited about it that they're insufferable.

 

“So. We've reviewed your informal peer feedback, and I'm relieved to announce that you are all happy with your current working groups, and so I will not be reassigning the groups.”

Tristan’s way of managing issues is to get everybody to email him at the end of each assignment, and if anybody has had problems working with anybody else he reassigns everybody. It seems to be effective, Lizzie was able to get away from Jonathan Carpenter and his micromanagement when she took _Intro to Online Media_ last year with no fear that the rest of the class would know that she was the one who complained.

(Actually, she found out later that everybody had complained about Jonathan Carpenter and his micromanagement, but he's not taking this class and so he's no longer relevant.)

“So. We're working with five local sports teams for the next three weeks. Each group will be assigned to a team, and at the end of the fourth week you will need to present a segment including at least three of the items in this list.” Tristan waves a sheet of paper at them. “It's page four of the summary.”

Lizzie scrolls automatically to that page on her laptop.

“Now… Simon's group.” Tristan looks around until he spots them. “You're the only group without transport, so you've been assigned to the university’s rugby squad.”

Lizzie's glad to have escaped that one. The rugby team are naked both on Instagram and in public with disturbing frequency.

“The rest of you, you have two minutes to debate what your order of preference is for these:”

Tristan presses his clicker and the screen splits into four images, with a two minute countdown in the centre. “Go!”

 

“Football, swimming, cycling, and… ice hockey.” Ryan notes them down. “I want football.”

“I don't.” Noah taps his pen against the table. “Let's do something a bit different.”

“Not swimming.” Erin’s adamant. “I hate the smell of chlorine.”

Ryan jots _4_ by _swimming_ and _3_ by _football_ on his pad. “Okay, so, cycling or ice hockey?”

Noah leans back in his seat and looks around. “Tristan? Is the cycling at the Velodrome?”

“Yup.” Tristan’s sitting on his desk, because he’s too cool for chairs. Noah turns back to the group.

“My ex works there.” He wrinkles his nose. Ryan rearranges the numbers, bumping swimming and football up a place so that cycling can go in at the bottom.

“Ice hockey, then?” He glances around the table and they all nod. “In order, ice hockey, football, swimming, cycling. We all cool with that?”

Everybody nods, and Ryan gets up to give their options to Tristan just as the timer runs out.

 

Nobody else puts ice hockey first.

 

*

 

“Right.” It’s Lizzie’s turn to lead a project. “What have we got?”

“Ice hockey’s very much a minority sport in this country.” Ryan’s been researching the sport in general. “Much bigger in Scandinavia, Eastern Europe, and of course North America.”

“I’ve been looking at the online media for the North American teams.” Erin switches documents on her laptop. “There’s a lot of really good stuff out there, both serious and silly. Plenty of things we can emulate.”

“I’ve got the bad news.” Noah was in charge of researching their allocated team. “We’ve got the bottom feeders. It’s not a big sport in this country, but added to that the Huskies are not only in the second league, they’re right at the bottom of it.” He pulls up the league’s website. “They’re not actually last at the moment, but judging on their performance over the last few years, that’s pretty unusual. However,” he looks around the group. “On the plus side, they don’t have much in the way of content for fans on their website, so we’re not going to be getting in anybody’s way over the next couple of weeks…”

 

*

 

The ice rink smells. There’s a general sense that the building isn’t being looked after.

There’s a specific sense that there’s something wrong with the toilets.

 

The locker room also smells bad, of sweat and a particular nose-wrinkling odor that’s apparently just what ice hockey smells like.

“It’s bacteria on the pads.” Their tour guide is the team’s media co-ordinator, who also plays for the team. “No matter how clean you keep your gear, the smell just kind of happens.” Jack _call me Fish_ has the kind of smile that makes even something this gross seem perfectly acceptable.

Noah winks at Lizzie behind Fish’s back.

 

They end up in the cafe part of the Costa drive-through that’s just across the car park from the rink.

“The rink does sell coffee,” Fish tells them, “but it wouldn’t be my first choice. And since this is officially a business expense, let’s go crazy and have something that won’t melt our tastebuds.”

He springs for cake as well.

“So, we had a look at the ideas you guys have come up with, and we’re pretty much up for anything.” Fish grins at them all and picks up his coffee. “I am so looking forward to this!”

“We’re looking forward to getting started!” Lizzie can’t help but smile back. Despite knowing nothing about the sport just a week ago, it really does feel like this is going to be fun to do, and the challenge will be to keep it down to the scale they need for the assignment.

“Have you got any thoughts on the most important bit?” Fish shifts a plate out of the way so he can put his coffee down and rest his elbows on the table. “What are we going to call this show?”

Fish has a similar degree to the one that they’re working on, and he’s not that much older than them. Maybe he’s not going to get any credit for this project, but he definitely feels like part of the team.

“We had a few ideas.” Erin pulls up the list on her phone. “We looked at what the NHL teams call their things, but we didn’t want to look like we were copying anything too closely. So, we were looking at things linked to the team name…”

“...and Erin ended up spending hours researching sled racing.” Ryan grins at Fish. Erin glares at Ryan.

“Anyway, the one we liked best was _Hike_.”

“Hike?”

“Yeah. It’s like, the word to start your team moving? Everybody thinks it’s _mush_ to get the dogs going, but real sled dog teams actually use _hike_.”

Maybe it’s too complicated, if it has to be explained.

“I like that.” Fish nods slowly. “I really do.”


	12. Leah Everett

League table Tuesday 11th October 2016

  
Charlie’s contractions start in the middle of the night, and they leave for the hospital just before six am, which is five pm in England.

**_Taking Charlotte to hospital!!! Stand by to be an auntie again!_ **

Dad adds the emoji of a chick hatching to the end, probably because he can't find a baby on his iPhone and he's not very good at texting anyway. For example: too many exclamation marks, includes emojis, but uses Charlie’s full name even though literally nobody has called her Charlotte since they were kids.

**_Good luck! Keep me updated x_ **

**_Will do!!! Don't worry, everything's going to be fine._ **

 

Charlie nearly died, when Luca was born. Leah’s allowed to worry.

 

The guys are all out at training, but Leah's emails are blurring in front of her and she's not going to get anything useful done in the office now, so she wanders through to the kitchen looking for company.

“Need a hand?”

Roberto doesn't need a hand, because he knows the team’s schedule and makes sure that all the prep gets done when he's got some of them there to help him.

“Sure.” He waves at the big trays laid out on the side. “Pasta bake is ready to go in, and the salads are in the fridge. You want to help me make brownies?”

“Yes please!”

It's easier not to think about it, while she's following instructions, snapping chocolate into a bowl, beating butter and sugar with the industrial mixer that's probably older than the rookies and is Roberto’s pride and joy.

“My sister’s in labour.” She confides, as she's pouring the batter into the baking tins.

“Gonna be an auntie again!” Roberto grins at her. He knows, because everybody's heard her worries on the subject, about how things so nearly went wrong last time, but he also gets without having to ask that what she needs right now is distraction and normality. People have babies all the time. Let's bake.

 

“That smells a-maze-ing.” Petr sniffs the air as he queues for pasta. “Chocolate?”

“Is it a special occasion?” Ifan nudges Petr forwards and picks up a plate. “If we get dessert midweek?”

“They’re Leah’s brownies.” Roberto tells him, heaping pasta onto Petr’s plate. “Not for you.”

Ifan pouts, which looks ridiculous on a man of his age and build. “That's just mean.”

“Can't make something that smells like that and not share!” Petr complains.

“I don't know if there's enough for everybody.” Roberto shakes his head sadly and serves Ifan.

Leah suppresses a smile. There are going to be enough brownies for about forty people. Nothing is made in this kitchen in small quantities.

“Maybe if you're nice to Leah…” Roberto shrugs, like he really doesn't know if that would work.

“I'm  _ always _ nice to Leah!” Petr protests, as Ifan prods him in the back and steers him over to the salad.

“You're holding up the line.” He looks over his shoulder at Leah as Petr's distracted serving himself salad, and grins. Ifan knows she's not going to withhold dessert from the team.

 

*

 

Despite what she'd expected from a houseful of guys who are nearly all under thirty, the team don't actually tend to stay up too late at night. They've got to work in the morning, and even those of them who work for the team, in the building, still respect that they need to sleep.

Leah's surprised to realise that it's midnight, when she has to drag herself out of her spot on the sofa to settle the dispute over the last brownie.

“I'll eat it.” She pulls the big plate - now holding just one brownie and a scattering of crumbs - out from between Mark and Tiny, and retreats to her seat.

“Split it?” Jack leans on her shoulder hopefully.

“Hey!” Mark protests. “You can't give my brownie to Fish!” He pauses. “Um. I mean, you can have it. But if you don't want it all, Tiny and I got to it first…”

“Fish is getting fat, anyway.” Tiny remarks. 

“I am not!” Jack launches himself off the sofa. Tiny restrains him easily. “Tucks, help!”

“Nope.” Ben makes a show of settling more comfortably onto the sofa, taking up some of the space that Jack had been occupying. “I'm good here, thanks.”

Leah breaks the brownie, which she didn't really want anyway, into four and passes a piece to Mark.

“Tiny?” She offers. Tiny has both hands occupied keeping Jack in a headlock, so he just shuffles closer and opens his mouth.

“This is so unfair!” Jack flails as Leah feeds the brownie to Tiny.

Honestly, if you'd told her six months ago she'd be hand feeding cake to one of the most disreputable enforcers in the league, she'd have said you were crazy. Eight months ago she didn’t even know what an enforcer  _ was. _

“Is the other bit for me or Fish?” Ben asks quietly while Tiny's reinforcing the message that none of them should ever try to fight him.

Leah grins. She had planned to let Jack have the fourth piece, keeping one for herself, but it's tempting to give it to Ben instead just to see Jack‘s reaction.

As Tiny releases Jack with a final hair ruffle, Leah offers the plate to Ben, taking the smaller of the two remaining pieces and putting it straight into her mouth. Ben picks up the other bit.

“Ohhhh…” Jack comes to a stop by the sofa and, just as Leah had expected, Ben breaks the last piece in half and splits it with him.

It's that easy to restore harmony.

 

*

 

**_No developments yet. Still in first stage._ **

 

*

 

Leah tries to go to bed, but she's been staring at the sloping ceiling of her bedroom for an eternity and it's achieving nothing. 

Moving down to the ground floor doesn't make it any better. Middle-of-the-night telly is even worse than daytime telly.

She needs company.

 

The only person guaranteed to be happy to get up in the middle of the night to hang out is Ester, so Leah pulls on a hoodie and stuffs her feet into her trainers to run across the yard to the main house, letting herself in through the door by the gym.

Ester trails her up the stairs and along the hallway to the office. Leah's not going to get any work done, but she can look at pictures of puppies on tumblr on her laptop and if she falls asleep on the windowseat, nobody’s going to give her any crap for it.

She’s half an hour into an internet rabbit-hole when a passionate debate about hot drinks between some people she doesn’t know sends her to the kitchen to raid the herbal teas.

 

“What are you doing up?”

Leah squeaks, although she’d deny that later, and drops the box of teabags. Luckily it lands on the counter.

“Sorry!” Vince comes further into the kitchen. “I didn’t mean to make you jump.”

“I wasn’t expecting anybody else to be up.” Leah admits. “I can’t sleep, so Ester’s keeping me company.”

Ester’s watching them through the doorway, well aware that she’s not allowed in the kitchen.

“Good job it wasn't the kettle you were holding!”

“Yeah.” Leah picks up the box of teabags, which turns out not to be the one she wanted anyway, and stretches to put it back on the shelf. She slides a couple of other boxes aside.

“Need a hand?” Vince has crossed the kitchen silently, which a quick glance floorwards confirms is because he's barefoot. “Which one are you after?”

“Blackcurrant.” Leah steps aside and lets Vince find them for her. She's not even sure why anything’s kept on high shelves, when Roberto isn't exactly tall himself. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Vince puts the teabags down by the kettle, and gets himself a glass of water. “Have you slept at all?”

“No.” Leah shakes her head. “I went to bed, but…”

“Yeah.” 

It's nice, that they all remember and she doesn't have to explain why she's worried enough to stay up all night.

“Do you want some company?”

“Don't you need to get some sleep?”

Vince shrugs. “I don't know what woke me up, but Tiny's snoring is so loud I can actually hear it in my room.”

“Aren't you on opposite sides of the corridor?”

“Yeah…”

“I mean, please don't feel that you have to. But yes, company would be nice.”

 

*

 

She wakes up at four fifteen, curled on the sofa in the small sitting room. There’s a blanket draped over her, and Esther’s asleep on her legs.

There’s nothing from Dad, so she sends him a text,  **_Any news, Grandpa?_ ** and scrolls through Charlie and Seth’s Facebook pages, combing through the comments on yesterday’s posts to see if anybody has any news.

By ten to five, she knows way too much about her sister’s social life, nothing new about the baby, and her battery’s down to six percent.

“Come on then, Ester.” Leah uncurls herself and stands up, wincing at how stiff she is. Ester flows off the sofa like she’s part liquid and stands by the door with her tail wagging.

There’s a piece of paper taped to the other side of the door, in what must be Vince’s handwriting.

_ Leah’s asleep in here, don’t wake her up! _

 

The lights are on in the gym, when they get downstairs. Ifan’s got headphones in, but he spots her in the mirror when she looks in through the door.

“Any news?” He pulls his earbuds out.

“Nope.” Leah holds up her phone. “And I’m almost out of battery. You’re up early?”

“I’ve got kitchen duty tonight so I need to work out before I go to work.”

“What time do you start?”

“Delivery comes in at six and I need to be there to sort it.”

Leah winces. “Don’t let me stop you, then!” She retreats, and Ifan just waves as he puts his headphones back in.

Ester has finished drinking - or redistributing the contents of her water bowl over as wide an area as possible, depending on how you look at it, and has apparently decided that Leah’s primary intention in going outside this early in the morning is to take her for a walk.

“It’s still dark, Ester.” Leah pauses with her hand on the door handle. “I’m just going to grab my charger. I’m coming back.”

When she looks back across the yard from her own doorway, Ester’s still got her nose pressed up against the glass.

 

Leah starts her phone charging while she brushes her teeth to get rid of the taste of staying up all night and swaps her pyjamas for something a bit more supportive, then takes phone and charger back over to the main house. 

Mark finds her in the kitchen, staring at the coffee pot as it fills, just after half past five.

“Have you been up all night?”

“Pretty much.” Leah doesn’t look up from where the coffee is dripping into the jug.

“You don’t have to wait for it to finish, you know.” Mark yawns as he speaks, turning away to find a couple of the big mugs. “If you pull the jug out it stops dripping until you put the jug back.” He demonstrates by pouring them each a coffee. “Milk?”

“Please.”

“Oh, good, coffee.” Ifan hurries in, much more awake than either Mark or Leah. He’s showered and dressed for work, in jeans and a polo shirt embroidered with the florist’s logo. He’s got four of them, in different colours. “Any news yet, Leah?” He fills his travel mug and screws the lid on. 

“No.” Leah checks her phone to make sure. “No.”

“No news is good news, right?” He puts his free arm around her shoulders and squeezes. “I’ve got to run.”

“Have fun at work!” Mark tells him, burying his nose in his coffee mug.

“Can I help with breakfast at all?” Leah doesn’t want to keep checking her phone every thirty seconds as it charges.

“Have you slept at all?”

“A bit? I mean, maybe an hour?”

Mark’s diplomatic face isn’t very good. “Best not, maybe. I’m not sure I want you using knives when I’m responsible.”

Roberto’s recently promoted him to manage breakfast on his own sometimes. Leah’s well aware of her reputation in the kitchen, but Mark apparently doesn’t even want her breaking eggs. That’s not really fair, breaking things is definitely in her skill set.

“Anyway, the rest of the guys won’t be up for a while, I’ve got it under control. Why don’t you grab a seat and I’ll do you some toast?”

 

*

 

**_Hey, it’s Seth. Just found Michael asleep in a chair in the waiting room and stole his phone. Everything’s going well and they say it won’t be long now xoxo_ **

 

*

 

Mark’s made about three times as much toast as Leah can eat, which suddenly makes sense when Petr strolls in, looking like he’s just woken up and fallen into the nearest set of clothes, and helps himself to several slices.

“Morning,” he says with his mouth full. “Baby yet?”

“Nearly.”

“All okay?” He chews and swallows.

“Yeah. I think so. My brother-in-law just messaged me. Apparently my dad fell asleep which is why he wasn’t keeping me updated.”

Petr looks at her and nods. “Good.” He takes another bite of toast and thinks while he chews. “Ester wants you to come for a walk with us. She’s worried about you and thinks you need some fresh air.”

“Does she now?”

“Yes.” Petr points to where Ester is sitting in the doorway. “See?”

“My battery’s still-” Leah checks her phone, which is up to 30%.

“Half an hour max. Be okay.”

Leah glances over at Mark, but she already knows that he doesn’t really want her getting in the way. “Yeah, alright then. Let’s go for a walk.”

“Yeah!” Petr grabs the rest of the toast, passing her a slice. “Let’s go!”

Leah’s not imagining that Mark looks relieved to see them go.

 

“I think I was making Mark nervous.” Leah jokes, once they're outside. “Being in his kitchen.”

“It's a big responsibility.” Petr says. “Roberto training him as a chef. He wants to get it right.”

“And having a walking culinary disaster in the room is dangerous, right?”

Petr blinks and smiles in that way he does when he's understood most but not all of what somebody's said.

“Competitive fucker. He doesn't want to lose.”

“How do you lose at making breakfast?” It's a rhetorical question, and Petr doesn't answer.

 

“Ester was right.” Leah says, as they reach the kitchen garden.

“Huh?”

“A walk is good for me.” It's cold, and not properly light yet, but just being outside feels real good after a gritty-eyed night of waiting. Leah's feeling better about being separated from her phone.

“Ester has good ideas.” Petr tells her, apparently serious.

“Yeah.” Leah bumps her shoulder against his. “She does.”

 

When they get back inside, Leah’s phone is up to 72%. Mark makes them both eggs and suggests politely but firmly that Leah and Petr might like to go and eat in another room.

Leah leaves Petr to carry both plates, and fetches her laptop so she can show him some of the puppy photos she found at three o'clock this morning.

 

*

 

**_Are you free to facetime or skype?!!xxx_ **

If Charlie’s the one texting, that must mean that…

**_Skype! Either!_ **

Leah drops her phone on the table and drags the laptop away from Petr, fumbling to get Skype open and nearly knocking her coffee over in the process. Petr looks confused, but Jamie’s grinning at them over his breakfast and Jack is trying not to laugh as he rescues Leah’s coffee. Jan’s the only one who doesn’t react, working steadily through his food.

The Skype chimes barely have time to start before Leah’s accepted the call.

“Hi, Leah!”

“Hey, Charlie!” Charlie looks knackered, which is hardly surprising. “How are you doing?”

“I don’t know!” Charlie laughs, that slightly manic laugh that Leah remembers only too well from exam times. “I’ve been awake for a reeeeally long time. Seth, c’mere.” She gestures to somewhere behind her laptop, which is balanced on her knees, and then Leah’s brother-in-law squeezes into shot.

“Hi Leah! Hi, random guys who live with Leah!”

Everybody except Jan has shuffled around so they can see the screen, because they’re nosy bastards. 

“Allow me to introduce your niece.”

Charlie’s baby - Charlie’s  _ daughter _ \- has a lot of dark hair, just like Luca did when he was born. She’s got her eyes tight shut, and a faintly grumpy expression.

“Hi!” Leah breathes. “Oh, she looks just like Seth!” She’s way too tiny to look much like anybody yet, but she’s definitely got her father’s colouring. “And everything’s - everything’s okay?”

“Everything’s fine.” Seth reassures. “No NICU for this little lady.” It seems like a distant nightmare, watching him transfer his daughter into Charlie’s arms, the image of Luca so tiny and surrounded by so many wires and tubes.

Charlie and Seth both look up as the door opens in their hospital room and Leah can hear familiar voices.

“Luca, come and say hi to Auntie Leah.” Seth holds out a hand, and a moment later Luca’s scrambling up onto the bed next to his mum. 

“Hi Auntie Leah! I’ve got a baby sister!” He grins at the screen, obviously looking at Leah’s face rather than the camera.

“I know! Has she got a name yet?”

“No.” Luca looks very serious now. “We’re still choosing.”

Charlie laughs. “We’ve got a shortlist but we wanted to meet her first. We’ll tell you as soon as we decide.”

“Hi Leah.” Dad appears in the background, waving before he scoops Luca off the bed. “Sorry about the lack of updates.”

“I told him, don’t forget!” Mum squeezes in on the other side of the frame. “I said, Leah needs to know what’s happening! But of course, the minute he sits down, he falls asleep.”

Dad looks kind of sheepish. The guys have all moved back to let Leah talk to her family, but out of the corner of her eye she can see Jack laughing silently.

“I’m just glad everybody’s okay.”

“Everybody’s perfect.” Charlie cuts herself off with an enormous yawn, and Leah can’t help but copy.

“We’re going to let Charlie get some rest now.” Mum announces. “We’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Okay. Love you all.”

There’s a chorus of response from New Zealand, and then Seth leans forwards and the call cuts out. Leah suddenly feels a little bit lost, seeing her whole family there together on the other side of the world.

“Congratulations, Auntie Leah!” Jack, who’s nearest, puts an arm around her shoulders and pulls her into a half-hug.

“We should go out and celebrate!” Petr stands up and starts gathering the empty plates.

“It’s eight am.” Jan tells him, protecting his breakfast from being cleared before he’s finished eating.

“Tonight! Not now.” 

“I don’t think-” Leah’s cut off mid-sentence by another yawn, “That I’m in a fit state to celebrate anything right now.”

“Go back to bed, we won’t fall apart without you for a few hours.” Jack is already chivvying her out of her seat and towards the door. “Jamie will hold the back office together until lunch time.”

“I know.” Leah smothers yet another yawn. “Jamie’s got it.”

“Come on then. I’ll walk you over so you don’t fall asleep in the gym on the way past.”

“I need to tell Uncle Stan.”

“Tell Uncle Stan what?” The man himself appears in the doorway, breakfast in one hand and walking stick in the other.

“It’s a girl!”

“Wonderful!” Stan’s been hoping for a girl, there are boys in his family on his wife’s side, but he’s been looking forward to having a little girl to spoil.

Leah blinks as the room sways around her. Jack laughs and puts his arm around her shoulders again.

“Leah’s going to bed now.” He tells Stan. “She’s been up all night worrying.”

Stan puts his plate down and pats her on the arm with his free hand. “Everything’s okay now. You get some sleep.”

 

Going to bed sounds like the best idea that anybody’s ever had, all of a sudden, and Leah’s grateful for Jack’s support because her apartment suddenly seems a very long way away.

“Thank you.” She mumbles, when he’s supervised her making her way up the steep flight of stairs to her bedroom, apparently worried that she’d fall if left on her own. “All of you, looking after me.”

“Of course we did.” Jack pauses at the top of the stairs as he’s turning to leave. “You’re team.”


	13. Jonny Cohen

Jonny slumps into his seat on the bus and opens his messenger app. Ross is starting tonight, Max said before they set off, and Jonny’s feeling kind of flat.

**JC30 - Bench warming again tonight :(**

Everybody else in this group will understand.

Sure enough, Addy’s already typing.

**AddyW - :( :( :( sucks**

**Jackyboy - Door monitor is an important job**.

Jack’s just saying that because they all told him that last week.

**Jackyboy - Who have you got?**

**JC30 - Tornadoes**.

Jonny gets it, he does, the Tornadoes are an arse to face and Ross is on a hot streak, it's kind of a no-brainer choice for Max tonight, but.

But.

Jonny had a hot streak, last autumn, Jonny stepped up when Ross was injured and he did a really good job, but he can't get a hot streak this year if he doesn't get any _games_.

 **Coop - Better get us some info then!** **Since nobody else has yet...**

Nobody knew the Tornadoes’ back-up before he signed for them, and so far the gossip has been minimal.

**AddyW - I tried but he was starting that game**

**Jackyboy - And Karl was hovering the whole time when I tried**

Jonny doesn't _get_ Jack’s relationship with Psycho Karl. Everybody agrees that the guy's a complete lunatic, even Jack, but Jack still defends him and seems quite happy to let Karl boss him around.

That's the other thing that makes it hard to sit on the bench. Everybody else seems to get on with guy they play with, they seem to be friends. Will even lives with Nick’s family.

Jonny’s the only one who got stuck with a starter who's a complete prick.

**JC30 - Leave it to me. I'm all over it.**

 

*

 

Forsythe is an ex GB international goaltender. He's an ex Elite league starter, more recently an ex Elite league back up.

Everybody knows what he used to be, it's on his elite prospects page, it's on his Tornadoes biog.

It's a bit more of a mystery what he's doing now.

 

Well. Not really a mystery, exactly, because he's hardly the first goalie to move down a league as his career slows, giving himself more time to develop a life outside hockey. It's just that nobody really knows anything about him as a person.

 

The other Tornadoes goalie, Szabó, heads straight for Jan when they get out for warm up. He cuffs Jan over the head with his catcher as he passes, Jan smacks his leg pads with his stick, and Szabó grins back at Jan over his shoulder as he skates away.

Jonny has to grin himself when he catches sight of Petr's face, obviously put out that there's some kind of special Slovakian interaction that he's not part of.

Jonny's gaze catches on Ross, next, and his smile fades. Ross is stretching, staring dead-eyed down the ice at the Tornadoes net. The idea of him greeting a member of the opposing squad is laughable. He won't even acknowledge his own teammates unless he has to, once he's on the ice.

Jonny sighs, and moves into his next stretch.

 

“I used to be able to do that.”

Jonny turns his head a fraction so he can see Forsythe without moving out of the stretch.

“I probably still could, but I'm not sure I'd get up again.” Forsythe sounds almost wistful before he grins at Jonny and his whole face changes. “The knees are not as young as they used to be.”

He's still effortlessly holding a stretch that none of his teammates could attempt, so his knees can't be that bad. Jonny unravels himself and tells him that.

Forsythe laughs. “True.” He switches sides. “It's Cohen, yeah?”

“Jonny.”

“Andrew.”

 

Even in this optimistic new world where the Huskies aren't completely useless and have actually won some games, Jonny can't bring himself to hope for much tonight. Even with Devon on the squad the team's still not exactly massive. There are two Tornadoes players hanging around in suits and they've still got more guys on the bench than the Huskies do.

Szabó’s starting for the Tornadoes, and Jonny nods to Forsythe as they step off the ice onto their respective benches. There’s plexi between the benches, here, so he can't sidle up to the end of the bench and pass the game chatting like he might at home or in most other rinks in the league. Forsythe’s installed himself in the back corner of the bench, swapping his mask for a cap, so Jonny puts himself in position for gate-opening duties and focuses on the game instead of the Economics homework he's got to get finished tomorrow morning.

 

The Tornadoes haven't made many roster changes from last season. One new defenseman, two new forwards, and both goalies. Other than that, it's the same team who won the league and the playoffs last year.

Szabó’s got a different playing style compared to last season’s goalie, and it's obviously taking some time for his defense to get used to him. The Tornadoes are still a really good team, but they're letting through a lot more shots than previously. Szabó has to work hard for his save percentage, and the few games that Forsythe has had have been terrible.

Not that that's going to make life any easier for the Huskies.

 

Last year, when the Huskies had their streak, Jonny was in net for every game while Ross and his hamstring glowered on the bench. Last year he was focused on the moment, puck by puck, and he didn't get to appreciate the atmosphere.

That's the one good thing about watching from the bench, that he gets to see the disbelief and panic on the faces of opposing players when the Huskies don't just roll over with their paws in the air.

The Tornadoes make push after push on the Huskies net, and time after time there's Fish or Tucks or Scott or Ethan, knocking them off course, closing the lanes, and behind them there's Ross, keeping the door shut.

And for every push on the Huskies net, there's Vince and William or Ifan and Jamie, picking up passes and heading into the Tornadoes zone.

They've been shut down every time, but they're making shots and it's not as one sided as anybody expects.

Traditionally, you might as well play Tornadoes v Huskies on sloping ice, given the inevitability of the final score.

Tonight, the ice is flat.

 

At the end of the first the score is 0-0 and the Huskies are somehow leading in shots on goal.

The Tornadoes had better possession and Mark’s the only Husky who’s won a faceoff, but somehow more pucks got to Szabó than to Ross.

“Alright guys, listen up!” Max has the playboard in his hand. “It's only Szabó between us and some numbers, tonight, because they seem to have forgotten how defense is supposed to work. Keep it clean out there, we don’t want to be giving them any advantage, and keep pushing. Jan, William, Vince, those were some good chances, keep it going. Ifan, Petr, keep them on their toes. You guys,” he waves at the end of the room where the defense have settled, “more of the same, please.”

The door cracks open and Malcolm sticks his head in. “Five minutes, boys.”

Max nods at him and dumps the playboard in his stall. “Let’s do this!”

 

The Tornadoes score first. Jamie fumbles a pass from Mark, and the Tornadoes are steaming up the ice with Tucker on their heels and Fish on his own between Ross and three forwards.

It’s one of those moments when you know the puck’s going to go in, even if you don’t know how. With three of them to pass the puck and find lanes, Fish and Ross can’t cover every angle and it feels inevitable when the red light comes on.

Jonny’s always hated the Tornadoes goal song.

 

The Tornadoes score again, twenty eight seconds later. They win the faceoff, pass back, pass forward, carry the puck into the zone and plant it over Ross’s shoulder.

The crowd cheer as that bloody song plays again. Ethan circles over to check on Ross, who doesn’t appear to see him.

 _Jonny_ appreciates it when his defense check in with him.

Petr wins the next faceoff, and Ifan’s ready to take the puck into the Tornadoes zone. Ethan’s behind him, just inside the blue line, and he’s got a slapshot that did for Jonny a couple of times last season.

It does for Szabó now.

The crowd aren’t so loud this time, just the dozen Huskies fans in the corner banging on the glass and yelling their joy.

Jonny slides the bolt open and swings his weight back to open the gate, letting Petr, Ifan and Max stride off the ice as Jan’s line go over the boards. Ethan lets him start to close the gate before he tries to come off, grinning through his mouthguard so Jonny knows he did it on purpose.

 

Vince capitalises on a dodgy turnover and finds himself one-on-one with Szabó. Jonny’s holding his breath as Vince dekes left, shifts right and then just as Szabó commits, weaves left again and lifts the puck clean into the back of the net.

It’s a beautiful goal. It’s a beautiful goal, and they’re tied at 38:12.

 

Max’s second intermission speech is very similar to his first intermission speech.

 

The third period feels a lot like the first, and they keep the score level for another ten minutes.

It's Max who makes the mistake. Ifan passes him the puck, and what should have been a pass over to Petr ends up on a Tornado stick, and suddenly there's a guy on a breakaway _just_ as the Huskies D were on a line change.

Ethan chases the Tornado, and Ross is tracking the puck as he comes in, but he's got a clear lane and it looks effortless when he lifts the puck over Ross’ blocker.

Jonny can't claim that he would have got that one, much as he'd like to.

Max comes in over the boards with some choice language, and Jan’s line go out to try and get one back.

They fight it. They fight every minute until the buzzer, but even though the final shot count stands at 28-19 in the Huskies’ favour, the Tornadoes get two points and the Huskies go home with none.

Max is quiet in the locker room. He can't yell at himself for fucking up, and to be honest it was one of those mistakes that everybody makes. It just happened to lead to the game winning goal.

 

Jonny's one of the last back on the bus, since he had to time his shower to avoid Ross and his sulking. His seat’s towards the back - Ross likes to sit at the front like a loser - and he pauses when he gets to Callum and Tiny.

“Did you get the Economics homework finished?”

Callum pulls a face. “No. That's tomorrow morning’s problem.”

“Me neither. Want to meet me at the Hall and do it before lunch?”

“Yeah.” Callum looks relieved. He's struggling in Econ, but even if Jonny finds it easier it still goes faster when there's somebody to talk it through with.

“About ten thirty?”

Callum nods. “Okay.”

Jonny heads on up the bus to his seat.

 

**JC 30 - Forsythe seems okay**

**AddyW - You got him to talk?!**

**JC30 - He came to talk to me.**

**Damo - Is he one of us now? Do we invite him in?**

**JC30 - Not sure. He's like an actual grown up. Seems like a nice guy tho**

 

*

 

Callum’s already there when Jonny gets to the Hall the next morning. He’s set up in one of the smaller sitting rooms, the one with the big table, and there’s an empty plate that suggests he managed to persuade Roberto to let him have breakfast.

“You been here long?” Jonny drops his backpack on one of the chairs. He’s left his hockey gear in the car, he can grab that later. Callum doesn’t seem to have anything else with him either, but he’s not passed his driving test yet. “Where’s your stuff?”

“Couple of hours. I wanted to use the gym, and my aunt was in the kitchen at home so I got breakfast here instead. Most of my stuff’s downstairs, not sure where Tiny’s hung my suit.”

Bollocks. Jonny’s forgotten his suit. He digs his phone out and sends his mum a text.

**Any chance you could bring my grey suit up here before 3? Sorry sorry thanks love you xx**

“How far have you got?” Jonny nods towards Callum’s notes while he gets his own laptop out.

“Not very.” Callum looks miserable. “I hate Econ.”

“Why are you taking it?” Jonny’s wondered that before, given that Callum’s clearly kind of struggling with the work, but it seemed rude to just come out and ask.

“Dad wanted me to.”

Jonny can’t remember if he’s ever seen Callum’s dad at a game. He must have done, though, and to be fair it’s not like he’s the world’s most observant person.

“I’ve only done the first bit.” He wiggles his finger on the trackpad to wake his laptop screen. The Econ homework’s open. “Want to talk through it?”

“Yeah.”

 

They’re about halfway through the assignment when Maisie comes into the room.

“What are you doing?”

“Homework.” Jonny tells her, hoping she’ll leave them alone. She’s a nice kid, but they’re on a roll here. Breaking it down so that Callum gets it is actually really helpful for his own understanding.

“Huh.” The door shuts behind her as she leaves, and Jonny sighs in relief.

They get about ten minutes before Maisie comes back, carrying a book bag printed with her school logo. She ignores them completely, climbing onto a chair at the far end of the table and getting her things out with great concentration. Jonny looks at Callum and they both suppress a smile.

“Okay, so, if the unit price increases…”

 

They’ve finished all of the illustrating graphs, and Jonny’s adding a bit more detail to his explanatory paragraphs so that they’re not identical to Callum’s, when Tiny slides into the room.

“Your washing’s in the dryer.”

“Thanks.” Callum looks up from where he’s re-reading his answers. Jonny’s pretty confident that Callum understands what they’ve done this morning. And, what? Tiny’s doing Callum’s laundry now?

“Are you here for homework too?” Maisie looks up from whatever she’s been concentrating on in her workbook.

“Uh, no.” Tiny looks vaguely panicked. Jonny remembers him saying that he hated school.

Maisie looks at him with a frown, like she’s trying to figure out if he’s going to be useful. “Can you draw cats?”

 

Scott comes to find them about half an hour before lunch is ready.

“How’s Homework Club going?” He looks far too pleased with himself for treating them all like they’re his kids.

“Not bad.” Callum stretches. “I think we’re done?”

“Yeah.” Jonny agrees. “I am, anyway.”

“Daddy, look!” Maisie waves Scott over imperiously. “I finished my story, and Tiny’s doing the illoos-” she pauses. “The pictures.”

“Illustrations.” Scott walks around the table to look at his daughter’s workbook. “Hey, these are really good!”

“Thanks.” Tiny looks really proud.

“Have you seen these?” Scott turns the book so that Jonny and Callum can see. Maisie’s writing is careful and even, and Tiny’s little pictures of cats are unexpectedly realistic.

“That’s cool!” Callum blurts.

“I just drew what I was told to!” Tiny looks a little unsure of what to do with the compliments.

“Good teamwork!” Jonny holds out his hand for a high five from Maisie, which she returns with all the strength of a little girl who plays hockey and has two older brothers. Jonny’s palm kind of stings.

 

**Dad’s going to bring your suit up after lunch x**

 

Lunch is a typically rowdy meal. Andi stayed over last night, although neither Mark nor Jan’s got their girlfriend here this weekend, and Felicity and the kids are eating with the team, so there are twenty six of them when Roberto slides into his seat. Seventeen hockey players, Andi, Felicity, Maisie and the twins, Leah, Stan, Roberto and Alec.

Jonny's sitting between Andi and Jamie, across from Callum and Tiny. Maisie's installed herself next to Tiny and has barely paused for breath as she brings him up to date on what's going on at school and in Under Nines hockey. Tiny looks slightly shell shocked and Felicity’s told Maisie off twice for talking with her mouth full.

Like she's going to learn good table manners with this crowd.

Jonny passes the broccoli down to Ifan and concentrates on his food.

 

“You guys get everything done this morning?”

“Yeah.” Jonny chews and swallows before answering because he doesn't want Felicity to give him that disappointed mum-face. “All finished.”

“You might have to start a homework club for real, if it gets my kids to sit down and do theirs.” Scott chips in from further down the table.

“I think I got more done working here, actually.” Callum's trying to play it cool, probably. Jonny doesn't mind.

“Yeah, me too. Might make it a thing.”

“Get Devon in on it and the twins will definitely do it.” Scott looks down to the other end of the table where the twins are sitting either side of Devon. “Looks like Jamie's been replaced.”

Jamie just grins and keeps eating.

“Hey, how's your grandad doing?” Scott turns back to Callum. Callum makes a so-so gesture with the hand that's not holding his fork, and Jonny's phone buzzes in his pocket.

**Where do you want this suit then?**

“Sorry!” He calls over the crowd of protests over him breaking the no-phones-at-team-meals rule. “It's my dad, he's brought my suit up.”

That earns him another round of catcalling about how he can't organise himself, and Jonny escapes to the front door.

 

By the time he gets back some wanker’s eaten his potatoes.

 

*

 

It’s the Cobras, tonight, and once again Jonny’s warming the bench. Rob Brooker’s getting the Cobra’s start, and Gav Stone settles in against the boards with the relaxed air of a guy who doesn’t need to fight for ice time. Jonny's not jealous.

The Huskies are a goal ahead after twenty minutes, two goals ahead after thirty minutes, and the Cobras are getting angry. They've always been a team with a temper, always quick to start pushing and shoving, and Tiny’s getting more minutes than he normally does just to remind them that the Huskies aren't easy to push around.

It feels like they've spent most of the game on either the penalty kill or the power play.

 

The hit happens at the very end of the second, 39:56. Callum's collected a rebound from Mark’s shot on goal, picked it up from the boards and passed it over to Jamie and then Craig Patterson and his elbows are landing, way, way too late to be legitimate play.

There's no whistle.

The Huskies are yelling as Callum crumples, screaming at the referee. Tiny takes two strides towards Patterson and then Ethan's in the way, physically pushing him backwards as the buzzer goes and Bicknell _finally_ blows the whistle. William's straight over the boards to talk to Bicknell, Scott's skating down to where Callum isn't moving. Fish has gone to help rein Tiny in, and somebody from the Cobras has got the sense to get Patterson off the ice and into their locker room.

The Cobras medic wobbles out onto the ice and three different people go to help her.

“Everybody off.” Max points towards the locker room. “Ifan, keep ‘em in there.”

Jonny steps onto the ice and skates for their gate.

 

It's a strange feeling in the room, crackling in the air because they don't know what's happening, if Callum’s okay, if the penalty has been called, if Patterson’s been thrown out. Jonny sits in his stall and exchanges nervous glances with Devon. Even Ross seems to be affected.

Petr’s one of the last in, and he snaps something in Czech as he crashes his things into his stall. Jan responds, a tense undertone to his usual calm.

Ifan kicks the door shut behind him, and Jonny glances around for a headcount. No Max, William or Scott. No Ethan, no Fish. No Tiny.

No Callum.

“William's talking to Bicknell.” Ifan tries to be the voice of reason. “Scott’s with Callum, Ethan and Fisher have got Tiny. Clock’s not started on the intermission yet.” He looks around, meets the eyes of anybody who’ll look up. “We’re ahead, and we're staying ahead. Max is going to say more, we all know that, but for now let's assume we're a forward down, a defenseman down, and we're still planning to win this thing.”

“Why are we a defenseman down?” Devon asks quietly, aiming his question at whoever’s nearest.

“No way that Tiny's not picking up a major penalty pretty soon.” Jamie tells him.

 

Sure enough, Tiny’s shoulders are tight with rage when the rest of the guys clatter in a few minutes later. Callum looks dazed and nauseous, and the noise level in the room plummets to accommodate him.

Scott starts helping him out of his gear. Ethan physically dumps Tiny into Scott’s stall, next to William.

“No penalty.” Max tells them, and the room explodes very briefly before they all shut up for Callum’s sake. Max looks like he's too angry to say any more.

“What I said, boys.” Ifan speaks up. “We’re not letting them have this game.”

 

Callum stays in the locker room when they head back out for the third period, pale and shaky in his sweats and hoodie. Alec’s ducked in to sit with him until someone decides if he needs to go to hospital.

Tiny’s still tense with anger when he steps off the ice and stands by the bench, glaring briefly at where Patterson’s stretching.

“Max, can I-”

“Make it clean. I want two plus two or a five, okay?”

Tiny nods, just once.

 

Tiny’s got a reputation. Everybody knows him, and most of the tough guys in the league think twice before fighting him. Even the Lewis brothers prefer not to engage.

There’s Tiny, there’s Kirkman from the Saxons, and then there’s Craig Patterson who _wishes_ he was as good.

Other people’s fans call Tiny a _useless goon_ , but they’re missing the point. Maybe Tiny’s never going to be the best skater, the best defenseman. Maybe he doesn’t have the most accurate shot or the fastest turn, but he’s not a useless goon. He’s really good at what he does.

That’s why it’s Patterson who starts the fight. Tiny’s been mouthing off, even before the puck drops for the third, leaning over the boards, making his comments that aren’t exactly smart or insightful but are pitched exactly right to get under Patterson’s skin.

And he only does it when Bicknell’s looking the other way. One of the linesman keeps shooting him sharp glances, but Tiny takes no notice, just picks his moments and needles away at Patterson.

Patterson’s getting angry now, and if Archer had any sense he’d bench him, but for some reason he’s still out on the ice and Tiny can make one more comment, right where Bicknell can see them, and Patterson snaps. He lunges for Tiny, Tiny takes one step back so that Patterson almost overbalances, and then Patterson’s yelling at him, incoherent to the guys on the bench. He’s shaking off his gloves and grabbing for Tiny, and it’s absolutely clear to Bicknell that Patterson started this.

Tiny’s going to finish it, though. His gloves hit the ice, and then he’s got Patterson by the collar and he’s landing his punches, one, two, three. One of Patterson’s wild swings gets him in the jaw, and then Tiny hits him one more time and Patterson turtles.

As soon as he folds to the ice, Tiny drops him and skates back, scooping his discarded helmet up and letting the linesman herd him towards the penalty box while the crowd screams their approval.

Jonny bangs his blocker against the boards in applause. Ethan collects Tiny’s gloves and stick and delivers them to the box, while the Cobras’ medic collects her kits and sets off the long way round to the away penalty box and the steward comes out to scrape Patterson’s blood off the ice.

Bicknell gives Tiny 2+2 for roughing, and he gives Patterson 2+2 for roughing and a ten minute misconduct for crashing his fists against the back of the penalty box in response to taunting Huskies fans.

 

The mood in the room after the game is much better, with a win behind them, but Callum’s stall is noticeably empty now that Leah’s taken him up to the hospital. Jonny showers quickly - not that he had a chance to work up much of a sweat - and shovels his things into his bag.

 

**I’ve still got a copy of your Econ homework so I’ll hand it in for you if you’re not at college tomorrow**

Callum doesn’t text back, but Jonny’s not really expecting him to.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The artwork is commissioned from [the very talented Fie](https://jusmcelroy.tumblr.com/commissions).


	14. Tiny

George waits up for Leah. He can’t settle, doesn’t want to distract himself with TV where he might get absorbed or fall asleep and not hear when she gets home. He ends up sitting on the bottom step of the stairs down to the gym, holding an ice pack against his bruised knuckles, scrolling mindlessly through his phone while Ester snores on his feet, until Leah’s headlights light up the yard.

He’s got the door open before she’s even turned off her engine.

“What’s the news?” he calls, as she opens the door to her car.

“Probably concussion.” Leah gets out of the car and stretches, cracking her back. “He’ll be out for a couple of weeks at least.”

“Did you take him home?”

It’s a dumb question, but Leah answers it anyway.

“Yeah. His grandad’s overnight nurse was there to fuss over him.”

Anita’s the usual night nurse. Callum likes her, he mentions her sometimes. More than he talks about that aunt who’s living there, anyway.

Leah grabs her bag from the car and closes the door quietly. “He's going to be fine. He's just grumpy that I wouldn't let him watch the videos of you fighting Patterson.”

“That's up already?”

“There were three versions up before the end of the penalties.” Leah rests a hand on his arm. “And Callum appreciated it.”

“Nobody gets to do that to my team.” George's voice isn't as steady as he'd like, and he tells himself it's because he's trying to be quiet as it's so late.

“Come here.” Leah shifts her bag more firmly onto her shoulder and manoeuvres him into a hug. “Thank you for looking after our team.”

George hugs her back. Just because he's supposed to be the tough guy doesn't mean he can't have a hug sometimes. “It's my job.”

Leah squeezes a little bit, like she's saying that she knows that but she wants to say thank you anyway.

 

George would have done that for anybody on the team. If the ref had missed a bad hit that took out Jamie or Petr or Fish he would have done exactly the same.

Callum's suit bag is still hanging on the front of the wardrobe, where he'd borrowed George's room to get ready yesterday, and the bag of clean clothes is on the end of George’s bed.

He'd turned up way too early for Homework Club, coming in to use the gym and do some washing. George doesn't really get why he's not having his washing done at home, when George goes home for the summer Mum just makes his washing vanish and George is older than Callum, but he needed to do some washing anyway so it was easy to stick Callum’s stuff in with his own.

Callum was going to pick his things up at the end of the game.

George can take them down to him tomorrow.

 

*

 

“Jonny just called me.” Leah comes into the kitchen where George is just emptying the last tray of clean dishes. “Callum showed up in class this morning.”

“What?” There's no way Callum's meant to be in class the morning after that hit.

“Jonny was a bit vague, you know what he's like, but I'm going down there now to collect Callum.” She glances around as if she's just checking that he's finished here and she's not interrupting. “Can you make up a bed in one of the empty rooms, just in case?”

“Sure.” George stacks the last of the bowls onto the right shelf and wipes his hands. “Will do.”

 

The bedrooms on the top floor technically have shared bathrooms, but there are enough empty rooms that the only guys who actually share are Jamie and Mark. George, Ethan and Vince all have empty rooms next to them and nobody sharing their bathrooms.

It just makes sense to set up the room next to his own for Callum. There's plenty of spare bedding in what Leah calls the linen room, and George takes yesterday's clean laundry through. Callum's got t-shirts, underwear, sweats and so on in there.

He closes the blind to shut out any daylight.

 

Callum looks really rough, pale and like he might collapse.

“You're an idiot.” George tells him, quietly, as he automatically takes over from Leah.

That just makes sense, though, George is a lot bigger than Leah and he can actually hold Callum up.

“You're meant to be resting, not trying to study.”

It shows how crap Callum must feel, that he doesn't even try and defend himself, just lets George lead him upstairs.

“Do you need a hand getting changed?” George sits Callum down on the edge of the bed. The kid looks ready to pass out just as he is, jeans and all.

“Um.” Callum looks down at his legs. “Maybe?”

“I’ll leave your bag here.” Leah sets it just inside the door. “Tiny, take his phone, yeah?”

“Yes boss.”

Leah grins at them and leaves, pulling the door to behind her.

“Come on then.” George holds out a hand to help Callum up and then rethinks. “Wait, shoes first.”

Between them they get rid of Callum’s trainers and jeans, and George moves the duvet out of the way so Callum can collapse against the pillows.

“Sorry.”

“What for?”

“Being a pain.”

“Don't be stupid.” George opens the bottle of water that he brought up earlier, just to crack the seal so that Callum doesn't have to struggle with it later. “What were you even thinking anyway?”

“I can't tell my aunt I got hurt.” Callum closes his eyes. “They'll stop me playing. So I have to act normal.”

George holds it together. Sometimes you have to wait before you can land a hit. Sometimes it’s the wrong moment.

Nobody who sees Callum looking like this could think he was feeling normal.

“Get some sleep.” George pats him clumsily on the shoulder and leaves him in peace.

 

“...and so he’s going to try and carry on as normal when he needs to just stop until he’s okay.” George finishes the story for the second time, still just as angry as when he’d told it to Leah.

“Well that’s not right.” Stan looks thoughtful. “We’ll have to do something about that.”

A normal grown up would probably say that Callum needed to tell his family about his concussion, because that’s the right thing to do, and probably try to tell him that of course they wouldn’t stop him playing hockey.

Technically, George has been an adult for years, he just doesn’t normally feel like one, and sometimes it seems like Stan doesn’t think of himself as a grown up either. He’s got this way of just ignoring the rules when he doesn’t like them, except that he gets away with it because he’s old. And rich, but mostly it’s his age. So George guesses Leah’s got the right idea, getting Stan in on this.

Callum’s not going to be eighteen until February, and from what he’s said his aunt’s a bit of a bitch.

 

“Are the school going to contact his family?” Stan’s obviously turning some ideas over.

“I think they have to.” Leah tells him. “He's still only seventeen.”

“So, he's left class because he's dizzy and nauseous, and he's come here instead of going home, because…” Stan drums his fingers on the arm of the chair as he thinks. “So, if we didn't know he's concussed, it's similar symptoms to a stomach bug, yes? And he won't want to risk letting his grandad catch it, not when he's so frail.”

“So he came here instead.” Leah picks it up. “So he can sleep it off.”

“So if we ring his family -” Stan looks at Leah. “You ring, you're the manager. We ring his family and say he's here, he's staying here overnight, best not to risk giving whatever it is to grandad.”

“And then tomorrow we ring the school and tell them he's still not well, let everybody think it's gastroenteritis, tell his family the same, and we can keep him all week because he won't need a doctor’s note or anything.”

“What if he's not ready to go back next week?” George likes this plan, but concussions aren't always that quick.

“We’ll figure it out.” Stan promises. “We've got time.”

“We need to get his aunt to tell the school that they can just talk to us. It's less hassle for her.” George has had time to form his opinions on Callum's aunt, but Stan and Leah seem shocked that he doesn't expect her to care about Callum.

 

*

 

George knows that he’s not very bright.

 _Not one of life’s achievers._ He never told anybody that he overheard that, Dad talking to Uncle Kevin about him when they thought he’d gone to bed, back when weekends with Dad were still a thing that happened. _That’s why I pay for hockey, the kid’s got to have something that he’s good at._

As he got taller and taller, people started to expect him to play physical, and so he did. The other kids started to be better than him at skating and shooting, but George was really good at being tall, and being the kind of guy who didn’t get pushed around. And the fast kids, the ones who scored the goals, they didn’t get pushed around as much when George was on the ice.

And when they got old enough for fighting on the ice, George was good at that too, because sometimes kids at school would say something about one or other of his sisters, and George wasn’t very good at shutting them up with words.

 

George does his hours for the team cleaning up in the kitchen, or helping Petr and Marty in the grounds. He helps Malcolm with the equipment, runs the team’s jerseys through the washing machines and sharpens skates. He’s not going to do anything special, like some of the guys, like Mark’s actually learning how to be a chef and Tucks is in charge of all the IT stuff for the team and Jamie does all the sponsorship sales packages and Fish runs the social media and so on. George does helping out and cleaning up, and three days a week he’s got a job on the other side of town, working on cars. It’s not like a formal apprenticeship, he’s too old for that, but back in juniors he used to help out at his friend’s dad’s garage and when he started playing for the Huskies he went round all the local garages until he found one who were prepared to take on a kid who had no qualifications but could show them that he knew how to do an oil change. He’s got most of his certificates now.

 

He’s just got home from work when his phone rings.

“So,” Em says, without bothering to say hello, “what’s it worth not to show Mum the videos of you fighting that guy at the weekend?”

George takes the key out of the ignition but doesn’t bother getting out of the car. “He deserved it.”

“What did he do, look at you funny?”

“Callum’s got a concussion.”

“I didn’t see a hit on the video?”

The thing about the fight being so long after the hit on Callum, because of the intermission, is that none of the videos show _why_ they were fighting.

“Happened at the end of the second. I had to wait for the right time.”

“That sounds very mature. Is my baby brother all grown up?”

George tip his head back against the seat.

“G? What’s wrong?” A note of concern creeps into Em’s voice. “That was where you’re supposed to make a completely inaccurate joke about me being short.”

She’s not short, just shorter than George. Everybody in his family is.

“Why… How could you not notice if somebody who lived with you had concussion?”

Em doesn’t say anything, giving him space to get his words in order.

“They just let him go off to school yesterday. Leah had to go and get him. He couldn’t even stand up.”

George tried to go to training when he wasn’t well enough, sometimes, when he was a teenager. Mum always took one look at him and frogmarched him back to bed.

“Some people aren’t as lucky as us.” Em reminds him.

 

It didn’t feel lucky, growing up with no money because Mum couldn’t work because of Sadie. Dad paid for hockey for George and school trips and stuff for Em, but nothing for Sadie because he liked to pretend she wasn’t there and because she wasn’t ever going to do sports or school trips the same way Em and George did, and there was never spare money for days out and computer games and whatever. George never had friends over. Em did, because her friends were older and smarter and knew how to be around Sadie, but sometimes George’s friends were mean about her so he just didn’t have them over.

He punched a guy at school for calling Sadie a spastic.

But even if they didn’t have much money and Mum didn’t have much time, she found time for them. She had time to talk about why punching boys at school wasn’t the right thing to do, and she had time for awkward conversations about girls and she made time to come to hockey games even if it took forever to go anywhere with Sadie.

And Mum would _definitely_ have noticed if he tried to go to school with a concussion.

“Is he staying at your place now then?”

“Yeah. Until he’s better. His grandad’s very old and his aunt’s a complete cow.” Callum’s dad makes a lot of money, but he goes away to do it. Callum’s always got all the kit he needs and the latest laptop and phone, and George has no idea what Callum’s dad looks like.

“I need to come and see you soon. I still haven’t seen this fancy house.” George’s family try to come and see him play at least once every season, although it’s difficult with Sadie. Em comes on her own as well, sometimes. “And I want to meet all these guys you live with.”

George punched a few guys at school for saying that Em was easy. She’s not, and even if she was, she’s his sister and nobody says shit about George’s sisters.

 

*

 

Mike texts him on Wednesday.

**U busy Fri? I’ve got the day off**

George checks the schedule pinned to the inside of his wardrobe door. He’s just got house things on Friday, and Leah doesn’t mind if he does them early so long as it gets done.

**Can get time off. U coming here?**

**Yeah, I want 2 see your house**

 

There are a lot of comedy faces around the table at dinner that night when George mentions that Mike Kirkman’s coming over on Friday.

“That’s cool.” Ethan’s the only one who looks relaxed. “I haven’t seen Kirker for ages.”

 

George meets Mike at the gates, and they walk up the drive together.

“This place is _so cool_.”

“Yeah, it’s okay.” George grins back at him. “Kind of weird that it feels normal to live in it, you know?”

“I’ll bet.” Mike pauses as they reach the bit where the drive sweeps round by the front door. “Um. Do you use the front door?”

“Yeah.” George laughs. “It’s not actually Downton Abbey and if it was we’re the family not the servants.”

Sadie loves Downton and he’s sat through all the box sets with her, it’s not like it’s a favourite of his, okay?

George bounds up the front steps and pushes open both doors. He’s doing it for effect, normally only the one on the right opens but he undid the bolts specially.

“Cooool.”

George has got used to living here, he’s kind of forgotten how amazing this house actually is. Mike’s just standing in the entrance, staring up at the main staircase and the carvings on the ceiling.

“Kirker!” Ethan appears on the stairs, jumping the last few and then stopping as if he’s not sure of his welcome.

“Hey, man.” Mike crosses the floor and pulls Ethan into a complicated hug and back-slap. “Good to see you!”

“You too.” Ethan looks kind of relieved, although George doesn’t know why. Mike’s got a reputation, sure, just like George has, but Ethan played with him last year, he _knows_ him. Mike’s not going to turn on an ex-teammate, not without a good reason.

“Nice place you’ve got here.” Mike’s attention wanders back to the building, and Ethan grins at George.

“Yeah, it’s pretty sweet.” He steps back. “Anyway, I’ll let Tiny give you the tour, catch you in a bit…”

 

So George gives Mike the tour, starting in the basement with the gym and working their way upstairs.

“Cool view.”

George’s room is at the front of the house, looking out over the driveway. Everybody parks round the back, so the view probably isn’t that different from how it used to be in the old days.

“Yeah. Worth the extra flight of stairs.” There’s actually an empty room on the floor below, in the corner between Jan and Ifan, but when they worked out that there were enough spare rooms that they could mostly have their own bathrooms anyway, George picked this room for the view. Jamie, Mark and Vince are at the back of the house, and their rooms all have sloping ceilings, but George is 6’4” and that’s just not going to work for him.

“Hey, are you - oh, sorry.” Callum stops in the doorway like he’ll be in trouble for interrupting, staring at Mike. He wasn’t at dinner the other night so he might not have known that Mike was coming today. “Um, I’ll just-”

“Callum, this is Mike. Mike, Callum.”

“Hi.” Mike turns away from the window and grins, and Callum edges closer to George.

It’s not like George has ever randomly turned up in another team’s housing to see if their rookies are scared of him, but maybe it shouldn’t be a surprise.

“I’ll, um, see you at lunch.” Callum flees, and his footsteps fade down the stairs. Mike bursts out laughing.

“I’m not going to eat him!”

“He’s injured.”

“I know.” Mike pulls himself together. “But you don’t need to get all protective, I’m not going to go for your rookie on or off the ice.”

“I didn’t-”

“You put yourself between us so I couldn’t get to him.”

Huh. Yeah. Maybe he did.

Mike grins, still kind of laughing at him. “How did you end up with a rookie anyway?”

George sits on the edge of the bed, and Mike takes the chair.

“Some dumb prank. Fish and Tucks and Ethan did something to make him sit with me on the bus and it sort of stuck.”

“Ethan’s bad for pranks.”

“So are Fish and Tucks, so together they’re lethal.” George is just glad that while they sometimes involve him, he’s never a target. He could have told Callum to go away, but the kid looked so scared that first time - and also they’d bought him chips, so.

Now it feels weird if Callum _doesn’t_ sit with him on the bus.

“Aww, I never thought you’d get all grown up and get yourself a rookie!” Mike’s too far away for George to hit him. “Seriously, though, your rookie’s off limits. I get that.”

“Same. If you ever get one.”

They haven’t fought each other for a couple of years. The fans want it, they both know that, but Mike’s his friend and they’re kind of in the same place. Not the best players, not the smartest guys, but they’re both good with their fists. They’re not going to fight, now, unless shit gets really bad. Or maybe if the guys need revving up, maybe they’d talk about it and drop the gloves. Maybe.

But Mike’s one of George’s best friends, now, and he’s not going to go for George’s teammates unless they’re causing problems, and George won’t go for Mike’s teammates either.

“By the way,” Mike says, like he’s just remembered. “Ethan. Everybody’s cool, like, all the guys on the team, so there won’t be any shit on the ice. You don’t need to be waiting for trouble, nobody’s going to go for him. That was all management.”

The thing about being the dumb guy on the team is that George has spent years perfecting facial expressions that say he’s following a conversation when in reality he hasn’t got a clue what’s going on.

“That’s good.”

“Cool.” Mike shrugs. “Just thought I’d say. Y’know. What with… everything.”

 

Lunch on weekdays isn’t a proper sit down meal. Roberto and Mark have made the food, but the guys just grab what they want and splinter off into various rooms, rather than gathering around the big table.

Most people do a double take when they see Mike sitting with George, but Callum folds himself onto the other end of George’s sofa, and Tucker and Fish come in to eat with them. Fisher’s mates with John Finch on the Saxons, and he’s telling some story about a holiday a bunch of them had been on a couple of years ago.

George can’t imagine sitting down and having a laugh with the guys on a rival team, but then actually he’s only ever played for the Huskies since leaving juniors and he doesn’t know that many people on other teams.

Mike grins at him when he meets his eyes, like he can’t quite believe he’s here in the Huskies team house, eating lunch.

Maybe it’s not just George, then.

“So, which one of you is going to take on Mkrtschjan?” Tucker butchers Psycho Karl’s surname. George thinks it’s on purpose.

Mike and George make identical scoffing noises at exactly the same time.

“Not going to bother.” Mike says. “Unless he goes for me. Not like I’ve got the sort of goalie who’s going to get in a fight for me.”

George snorts at the idea of either Ross or Jonny getting in a fight. Jonny might give it a go, but he’d stand no chance against Karl.

“Yeah, me either.”

“Maybe we can get Patterson to do it.” Fish leans forwards. “Can we tell Psycho Karl that Patterson’s been saying shit about him?”

George likes the idea of Patterson getting a pasting from Karl.

“We’ve got the Cobras on Sunday.” Mike leans back in his chair. “I’m going to see if I can get him called for instigating. Not fair that he’s on the ice and you’re not.”

The last comment’s directed at Callum, who looks surprised. “Um. Thanks?”

He’s looking pale again. George takes his empty plate away. “You should go back to bed.”

Callum nods, slowly, and nobody chirps either of them as he gets up a little unsteadily and heads for the door.

Fish stands up and collects the plates, kicking Tucker until he stands up too. “We’ll take these back to the kitchen.”

“I should help. Since I don’t actually live here or anything.” Mike pauses in following them out of the room. “Go on, go and tuck him in. Make sure he gets there.”

George wants to protest, but Mike’s not taking the piss and actually he probably should just check that Callum’s okay.

 

He catches up with him on the second flight of stairs. “Okay?”

“Yeah. Just…” Callum waves a hand in a vague gesture that doesn’t really mean anything, and George hovers in case he falls down the stairs. Callum’s doing better - well enough to get up for lunch, for example - but still a long way from normal.

“Did you ask Kirkman to fight Patterson?” Callum asks, when they’ve got to his bedroom doorway.

“No.” George reaches past him to push the door open.

“Then why…?”

“Because he’s my friend. And you’re my-” He stops before he says _you’re my rookie_.

Callum yawns. “I’m your…?”

Maybe a cleverer guy would have a better way to say it. “You’re also my friend.”

And nobody touches George’s friends.

 


	15. Jan Tkáč

League table Friday 28th October 2016

_ _

_  
“Who else is going to be there this weekend?” _

_ “Um…”  _ Jan tucks his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he hunts for his wallet.  _ “Just Andi, I think. Wait a moment-”  _ He takes the phone away from his ear to give the cashier his attention.

“Do you want a 5p bag?”

“Uh…” Jan refrains from looking pointedly between the items he's got piled in front of him and his pockets, since he clearly doesn't already have a bag. Does she think he's going to walk through town with all of this stuff just in his hands? “Yes. Please.” The girl probably has to ask, since there's a charge.

“That’s eighteen twenty please do you have an Advantage card.”

“No.” And he doesn't want one. Jan pauses from shoving things into his new bag to tap his debit card against the reader, then gathers his stuff and gets out of there.

_ “Sorry, I'm listening now. Why are tampons so expensive?” _

Soňa snorts.  _ “Get used to it. And thanks.” _

_ “I was in there anyway.” _ Jan shrugs even though she can't see him through the phone. He doesn't get what the big deal is, it's not like the girl in the shop was going to think that they were for him, was she?  _ “Anyway, I think just Andi. And Felicity obviously. Gabbi’s got some... thing with her uni friends.” _

_ “Good.” _ Soňa doesn't like Mark’s girlfriend. They've got nothing in common, and Soňa doesn't have a lot of time for the sort of girls who giggle a lot. Gabbi’s only twenty though, just gone to university after going travelling. Soňa’s doing her PhD and Gabbi’s still getting drunk every night with all the other first years.

Probably. Jan doesn't actually know. It's not like Gabbi makes an effort to talk to most of them, and Jan doesn't care enough to ask. Mark likes her, that's the only thing that's relevant. 

It's not as if Jan needs or wants Mark’s approval for his relationship with Soňa.

_ “What time are you getting here?” _

_ “In time for dinner.” _

Training’s early on Fridays, so they're home for dinner by eight thirty.

_ “See you later then.” _

_ “See you later.” _

They're not the kind of couple who end every conversation with  _ I love you  _ or who put kisses on text messages. They've never needed to. Jan moved to England for Soňa, she knows how he feels.

 

Jan hasn't bothered to get a car since he moved over here. There's always somebody to give him a lift to training or games and the shops are close enough to walk, so he doesn't see the point of buying a car and paying tax and insurance and all that. Waste of money.

It's uphill all the way home, but Jan’s a professional athlete. He picks a playlist at random on his phone, puts his headphones in and starts walking.

 

He stops at the Co-op, because if Soňa needs tampons she probably wants chocolate, and if she doesn't want it then he can eat it himself.

 

Petr's girlfriend is also in the Co-op.

She's not officially Petr's girlfriend, but Jan refuses to skirt around the issue. Yeah, she's seeing some other guy back at home and she tries to pretend that she and Petr are just...  _ benefit friends, _ or whatever the English phrase is, but Petr spends a couple of nights a week at her place, and Petr’s not seeing anybody else, and Jan’s pretty sure that Katja’s not seeing anybody else either. Apart from the Norwegian boyfriend, but he doesn't really count.

They ran into Katja and her friends when they were out for a drink the other week and her friends all seem to think that Petr's her boyfriend, even though they must know about the other one. The official one.

So as far as Jan is concerned, Katja’s Petr's girlfriend. He likes her well enough, as much as he can like any girl who's messing his friend around and treating him like shit. Petr deserves better.

Petr deserves better, but he wants Katja, and it's not Jan’s business to interfere.

Katja doesn't see him, and Jan sees no reason to go and speak to her.

 

*

 

It's the first time they've played the Saxons this season. Apparently there's been some kind of political drama since the end of last season, but Jan doesn't know any of the details. He doesn't know what's changed, since he wasn't here last year, and he doesn't really care. They don't need to beat last year's team, they need to beat this year's. Knowing stuff about the goalie who doesn't play for them any more is irrelevant.

Ethan used to play for them, and he's been a bit weird when people mention it, closed off. He's been better since Tiny's friend who’s still a Saxon came over last week, but still a bit… not like himself.

It's always hard playing your old team.

At least they're at home.

 

It's not the kind of the game where you can guess the result in advance. The Saxons aren't expected to walk all over them, but the Huskies aren't guaranteed an easy win either.

Everything to play for.

 

The Saxons start their backup. Max starts Jonny.

Jonny's not a bad backup, he's just young. Petr says he carried them for a bit last season, and that it's good that Max gives him games.

Jan doesn't feel any less secure if Jonny's in the net.

He's not the kind of player who relies on the netminder to bail them out, anyway.

 

The Saxons are falling into the trap that everybody seems to face the first time they play the Huskies this season - they expect them to be bad.

Jan hasn't got used to it, not as such, but he has adapted.

It takes half a period for a team to grasp that the Huskies are in each game to win, now, and that's ten minutes in which Jan wants his line to get two goals.

He didn't know what to expect, really, when he came to England to be near Soňa, arriving on a tide of Petr's optimism and Max’s promises that they would be better than they used to be. Jan knew he was coming in to a weak team, but so far he’s not seen that they’re all that different from the rest of the league. He knew he’d be one of their top players, nobody's going to pay him to come to England to play on the third line, but he’s not carrying this team alone. With William and Vince on his wings, the line has just felt  _ right _ ever since the preseason.

 

Jan wins the first faceoff, because he’s faster than his opponent, and knocks the puck back to Scott without looking. He trusts that Scott’s got the pass, and focuses instead on the Saxons’ defense as he pushes forward, slowing down until he can see from the corner of his eye that Scott’s got the puck to William and William’s carried it into the zone, then putting on a burst of speed that panics the defense and leaves a lane clear for William to pass to Vince. Vince shoots without pausing when the puck hits his tape, the goalie gets a pad in the way and Jan’s there to lift the puck gently into the back of the net.

Red light. Buzzer.

1:38, and the Huskies fans go crazy as the goal song starts.

The Saxons look a little bit surprised. It doesn’t seem to matter how the Huskies have improved, where they sit in the table, nobody believes it until they actually play them.

Jan skates the length of the bench to bump gloves with his team, then lifts himself in over the boards as Petr’s going out. 

Petr grins as they pass.  _ “My turn.” _

 

Petr doesn’t get a goal, but his line get in a couple of decent shots that the goalie  _ \- Winthrop _ , his name is, another one of those English names that doesn’t sit well on Jan’s tongue - has to scramble to get.

The Saxons get a run on Jonny, but Fisher gets back in time and he and Tucker shut it down, sliding the puck in to where Jonny can kill it.

 

Max shares Jan’s opinion on the importance of using their underdog advantage while it lasts, and Jan’s line go straight back out after Petr’s.

 

The Saxons’ centre is so determined to beat Jan that he moves too fast and gets thrown out of the faceoff. Jan holds his focus while they swap in one of the wingers, and when the puck drops he scoops it back to Ethan and Ethan smacks it up the ice to where Vince is going to be.

Vince on a breakaway is dangerous, and Vince on a breakaway against a goalie like Winthrop is almost unstoppable.

Red light. Buzzer.

2-0.

Jan gets the second assist, but the important thing is that his line is putting up points.

 

Jamie very nearly scores from Petr's wing a few minutes later. He's getting more minutes on the second line now, Max dropping back to the third line, filling in for Callum on Mark’s wing.

Max is a defenseman, really, even if he's had to play forward for the past couple of years, and it's obvious that he's happier controlling from the bench and going out on special units where he can be whatever he needs to be.

Well, obvious to Jan. Petr chatters about how Jamie's performing next to him, makes the kid go down to the town with him to meet Ifan for lunch because Petr’s obsessed with line chemistry, but the only person Jan sees observing Max and how he slots into the spaces he's reorganised for himself is William.

William's played with Max for years, they're close friends off the ice.

William's Jan’s left wing. Jan needs to know what William can see on the ice so they can work with it together, and sometimes he notices more than just the plays.

 

Jamie's shot very nearly squeaks past Winthrop, and even across the ice and through his mask it's clear that Winthrop has no idea how he managed to stop it.

That seems to be the wake up call that the Saxons needed, as they shake off their surprise and start fighting back.

 

Ethan's everywhere he needs to be. Jan can't be sure, not having played these guys before, but it looks like they're pulling their hits. It definitely looks like they're going harder against Fish, Tucker and Scott than against Ethan.

Nobody's tangling with Tiny, but that's far from unique.

Ethan clearly understands the systems that the Saxons are playing, and he's good at predicting where they're going to be next. Max is putting him out against the top line, and Scott's experienced enough to know that it's worth listening to Ethan today.

Three very good shots get through to Jonny, but he gets them all. One kicked away to Fisher’s waiting stick, one knocked out of the air with his shoulder and flattened to the ice a moment later, and one absolute beauty that he folds into his glove mid-air like it's the easiest thing in the world.

They finished the period 2-0 up.

 

“Right, guys, we need to hang on to this.” Max has to raise his voice over the din in the room. “They'll be coming out fighting for the second, so this is not the time to take our foot off the gas.”

_ Don't slow down _ . Jan's slowly getting to know more and more English idioms. Such a stupid language.

 

He skates lazy loops when they get back out to the ice, circles linking William and Vince to his starting point. 

“Go again, yeah?” He taps his stick against the back of William's legs. “Two more?”

Vince grins through his mouthguard. “Let's do this!”

 

*

 

_ “Why didn’t you tell me Jo was going to be here?” _ Soňa demands as soon as Jan gets within earshot.

_ “Because I didn’t know Jo was going to be here!” _

Petr snorts next to him as they cross the bar. He’s the only person who can understand them.

Jo’s looking up, as Soňa’s interrupted their conversation and they’ve said Jo’s name twice.

“Hi Jan, Petr.”

“Jo! When did you get here?” Petr’s usual levels of enthusiasm provide a good contrast for Jan. It allows him to be taciturn - people assume that he lets Petr do all the talking because it’s easier than trying to make himself heard. Really, Jan just doesn’t have that much that he wants to say. Pretty much every thought that crosses Petr’s mind comes straight out of his mouth, but Jan’s a little pickier about what he shares.

“Just flew in today.” There’s a smile on Jo’s face that only seems to come out for Petr. She’s more like Jan, in a lot of ways, she thinks before she speaks and she generally looks quite serious, but it’s hard not to smile back at Petr. “You’d already left for the rink by the time I got to the Hall.”

One of the apartments in the stable block is reserved for Jo. She comes over every few weeks, between managing the rest of Stan’s business affairs, and she seems quite happy to be across the courtyard with Stan, Leah and Roberto rather than in with the boys.

Jan’s a little envious, sometimes, when Vince is crashing around upstairs and Petr’s blasting music next door. He’s pretty certain that Stan doesn’t inflict terrible pop music on Leah and Roberto.

“Good win tonight, guys.” Jo continues. “It's very close in your part of the table.”

Jan shrugs. “Early season. Everybody's close.”

“Eighteen points top to bottom.” Soňa generally has a better knowledge of that kind of thing than Jan does. She likes numbers, watching the mathematics of the unfolding season.

“That’s only nine wins.”

Nobody actually says that the Cobras are going to need a dramatic change if they're going to make that climb up to to where the Scorpions are sitting at the top of the table, but even Jo has an expression that can only be called a smirk.

“Are we getting a drink?” Petr asks, “or straight home for dinner?”

 

Dinner is as noisy as a post-win meal should be, almost all of the team gathered around the big table. Ross has gone home, and Scott’s down in the gatehouse making the most of the opportunity to actually spend time with his wife while their kids are asleep. Jonny and Callum are here, though, Jonny comes back for post-game meals so his family don't have to feed him late at night, and Callum’s been living here for a couple of weeks while he deals with his concussion. He was well enough to be at the rink tonight, although still not skating.

Jan does a quick headcount and work out who's missing. “Where's Devon?”

“He went straight home after the game.” Vince passes the vegetables up the table to Alec. “They had a family Skype call arranged with his sister.”

It amuses Jan, that Vince has absentmindedly adopted Devon. At least Tiny is aware that Callum's his rookie, but Vince has drifted from his original intention of giving the kid a chance to find his feet before Petr could take over and seems not to have noticed that Devon always looks to Vince first when he's not sure about something. Vince would probably be surprised to realise that he does actually always know where Devon is and how he's doing.

Petr's realised. Every now and then he'll mutter about how he's a responsible leader who could look out for the younger players, if somebody would just give him a chance and stop stealing the rookies. Jan doesn't see the point in explaining that his full attention could smother someone who wasn't confident enough to tell him when to back off. It would hurt Petr to believe that, and since the rookies are all accounted for there's no harm in letting him grumble.

 

Soňa’s baffled by Petr’s insistence that he should have a rookie. He prefers to complain in Czech, and if she’s around when he chooses to vent, she gets to listen to him with Jan whether she wants to or not.

_ “He’s really not the right person. _ ” She'd insisted, as if Jan needs convincing.  _ “He’d fuss too much about the wrong things and then get caught up in himself when the rookie actually needed him.” _

And then she wrote a mathematical formula to show the ideal mentor, because Jan’s girlfriend is a genius and also a tiny bit crazy.

 

The noise levels drop as everybody starts eating, as everybody around the table either has some manners or needs the calories more than they need to talk. Jan would like to consider himself in the first category.

It’s far from silent, of course, because they’re still going to chat and chirp, but nobody’s shouting along the table when there’s eating to be done. Jan likes these moments, when most of his weird English family are in one place. Back home he’s got a brother and a sister and a whole pile of cousins, and team meals feel like the summer days when everybody gets together to eat and talk. It’s most familiar when they have their pre-game lunches, and everybody from Stan to Maisie is there, but tonight feels comfortable in the post-win buzz.

The seat at the head of the table sits empty, as Stan’s not one for eating this late at night. Some of the guys prefer to have their regular seats at pre-game lunch, but Leah refuses to let superstitions invade the dinner table and deliberately switches her place all the time, forcing them to move around her.

Even so, they tend to settle in the same clumps. Max, William and Ifan drift together, with Scott when he’s there, although their conversation isn’t actually any more mature than the younger guys. Jamie and Mark always sit together, even when Gabbi is here. Jan tends to stay within a few seats of Petr, although neither of them really gets lost speaking English these days and if they do the guys will help them out. Tucks and Fish aren’t actually attached at the hip, and it makes Jan a little nervous when he sees them sit with Ethan - they haven’t pranked him, but he gets the distinct feeling that it’s just that they haven’t pranked him  _ yet _ and he’s on his guard. 

Tiny will sit with Callum, if there’s an empty seat. He doesn’t seem to mind if there isn’t - as long as Callum has people around him, Tiny’s happy.

Any group will expand for girlfriends and family, although Scott’s kids like to get out of range of their parents if they can. The twins like to have the attention of either Jamie or Devon, and Maisie picks her dinner companions with great concentration and no obvious pattern. (Soňa made a spreadsheet for that too. The results were inconclusive.)

Maisie’s not here now, of course, it’s far too late and Scott and Felicity are down in their house like normal people. Andi’s the only non-team person here other than Soňa, and she comes up often enough that she’s never out of place in the same way Gabbi sometimes is.

The veterans have got the foot of the table tonight. Ifan’s telling a story, waving his free hand around between mouthfuls. William’s listening, but from this angle Jan can see that he’s got half his attention on Max and Andi. It’s subtle, but every time he looks away from Ifan and down at his plate, his eyes flick to his left before they go back to Ifan.

Jan’s never going to know what it’s like, to play your whole career with the same guy. It’s not the path he chose, even before he came over here to play.

 

*

 

_ “Are you still awake?” _

_ “Mmm.”  _ Just because he’s been face down in the pillows while Soňa’s in the bathroom doesn’t mean he’s asleep.

_ “Jan?” _

He turns his head to prove that he’s awake. Soňa’s brushing her hair, which falls most of the way down her back when she lets it loose - which isn’t very often apart from when she’s getting ready in the morning or on her way to bed.

She’s wearing a t-shirt, one of his team ones from last year, and given how big it is it must actually be one of his rather than the one she bought to wear to games.

_ “Is that my shirt?”  _ Jan’s awake now.  _ “Where did you get that?” _ He didn’t bring any of the old team gear with him, didn’t see the point.

_ “I use it as pyjamas.” _ Soňa sets her hairbrush down on top of the chest of drawers.  _ “Is that okay?” _

The hem of the shirt settles a little lower now that she’s finished brushing and has put her arms down, but Jan’s pretty sure that she’s not wearing anything else.

_ “Come here!” _

Soňa’s grin when he catches her hand as soon as she’s in range, pulling her in as he rolls onto his back so that she lands as much on him as she does on the bed, suggests that she knew exactly what effect the shirt was going to have.

Oh, and she’s  _ not _ wearing anything else.

 

Soňa settles in his arms for as long as it takes to get her breath back, then she pats his hip and rolls away, out of the bed in one smooth motion and pads through to the bathroom. Jan stretches, deals with the condom, and restores some kind of order to the bedding.

It’s supposed to be the man who falls asleep immediately after sex, but by the time Jan’s taken his turn in the bathroom and washed the smell of the latex away, Soňa’s sprawled across more than her fair share of his bed with the best pillow firmly in her possession.

_ “Do you mind if I join you?” _

Soňa grumbles into the pillow, but she doesn’t fight Jan when he nudges her over a little bit and slides in next to her. He rolls her onto her side, just far enough to perform the switch he’s now very practised in so that the pillow’s under his head and Soňa’s cuddled up to him instead.

Soňa mutters something incoherent into his chest, and Jan sweeps her hair back in the hope of keeping it out of his face for a few minutes at least. It’s futile, he knows that - but he doesn’t really mind.


	16. Hector

League table Friday 4th November 2016

  
Hector doesn’t hate anybody, it’s not in his nature. In an ideal world, Hector would be everybody’s friend.

It makes Hector sad, sometimes, when fans from other teams are mean. Little kids are fine, they’re usually quite happy to give the giant bipedal husky a fist bump or pose for a picture, but sometimes the bigger ones are mean. Teenagers who like to tap him on one shoulder and duck behind him so he turns the wrong way, who push past a little too close so that he’s unsteady on his skates, taking advantage of how little he can see.

Players from other teams are usually fine, though. Sometimes they tease, in those last few minutes when they’re stretching or looking for drinks, after their football games have finished but before the doors open to the fans, but they’re just chirping, like they do for teammates. It’s all harmless, and Hector takes it in the spirit in which it’s intended. Mostly, though, if he mistakes an away player for one of his own boys, because when they’re wandering around in their base layers he can’t always tell them apart, they oblige him by bumping fists when he stretches out a paw.

Most of them are just larger versions of the little kids, to be honest.

 

Hector doesn’t hate anybody, and although he loves his own team the best, there are always some visitors that he’s happier to see than others.

“Coop, no.”

“But he looks so soft… He might be softer than Snowy, I have to know.”

“Coop, you can’t!”

Hector turns slowly, trying not to be obvious, until he can see which of the Blizzard players are approaching.

It’s the backup goalie, and one of the younger forwards.

“You can’t hug the other team’s mascot!” The forward sounds absolutely serious, and Hector suspects that the goalie is messing with him.

“But I want to! I can add it to the pre-game lucky hug ritual!”

“Coop! He’s on the other team! What if it’s _un_ lucky?”

Hector can’t miss an opportunity like that. A hug _and_ the chance to help his boys win? (Not that they need it. Hector’s boys are awesome.)

He turns fully towards the Blizzard players and holds his paws out for a hug.

Coop laughs. “See, Danny? He’s friendly!”

“Coop!” Danny grabs his arm as if he’s going to physically stop him from getting any closer to Hector. “I’ll get Lucas.”

Coop makes a noise like he’s trying to hold back another laugh. “Oh no, don’t do that.”

“Come on.” Danny tries to pull him away. Hector drops his shoulders and mimes being sad, like he does when a small child won’t fist-bump.

“Danny, you’re making him sad.”

“He’s _on the other team._ ”

“Can I hug him afterwards then? You’re on the ice at the end, right?” The last comment’s directed at Hector, and Hector nods as vigorously as he can without threatening the secure placement of his head.

“I’ll see you later, then.” Coop comes in for a fist bump. Hector obliges, then holds out his paw for Danny to bump.

“Um...”

“Come on, Danny. You can’t leave him hanging.”

Danny reluctantly bumps his fist against Hector’s paw.

 

Coop didn’t play the game, he’s spent it leaning on the boards and chatting to Jonny, so when the guys are all on the ice for the end-of-match announcements, he’s one of the ones that doesn’t smell too bad.

Hector’s lucky not to have a husky’s sense of smell, in this job.

His message obviously did get to Sean, because once the away man of the match has been announced and photographed, and before the Blizzard can skate over to thank their fans, he’s ready when Hector heads for the rolled-out carpet and points at Coop.

Goalies are the easiest to identify when you’ve got a limited range of vision. They’re bulkier.

Coop skates right over, as if he was waiting for this, and comes straight in for a hug. He doesn’t try to be silly, doesn’t attempt to lift Hector off his skates or anything, just poses for Sean and gives Hector a really good hug.

“Can I embarrass Danny?” He asks quietly, and Hector nods. “DANNY!”

Danny gets pushed over to them by a couple of other teammates, and Hector drags him in for a hug, aware that Sean’s snapping away.

“You were right,” Danny says to Coop once Hector’s released them, as they’re skating away, “he is really soft.”


	17. Jack Fisher

League table Friday 25 November 2016

 

It’s pissing it down outside, and it makes the office feel kind of cosy, rain hitting the flagstones in the courtyard while they sit under artificial lighting and concentrate on their own things.

The offices are tucked away at the back of the house, behind the main staircase. There’s a little office that’s only really used when somebody needs to have a private telephone conversation, and then the main office with six desks arranged around the room.

Coming in here in the morning and closing the door to the hallway behind him really feels like going to work. In the rest of the house, Jack’s a bro, a prankster, a hockey player. In here, he’s Assistant Media Co-ordinator for Harfield Holdings and he’s got work to do.

 

“Does anybody want a cup of tea?” Jack peels himself out of his chair and ambles over to the other side of the room, where they’ve got a kettle, tea and coffee supplies, half a dozen mugs and a tin of biscuits that they keep secret from the rest of the house. It feels more like a real office, not going back to the main kitchen for tea breaks.

“Please.” Leah doesn’t look up from her computer.

“Tucks? Coffee?”

“Go on then.” Ben leans back in his seat and stretches.

Jack drops a spoonful of Nescafe granules into Ben’s mug, which is pink and covered in pictures of cats, and sets up tea for himself and Leah.

“Jo?”

“No thank you.” Jo lifts her travel mug to show that she’s had the sense to get some of the decent coffee from the main kitchen. She’s not buying into the “British office vibe” that the rest of them are so inexplicably fond of.

Jack gets the milk out of their tiny fridge, which also holds a can of diet coke and half a tub of hummus that doesn’t actually seem to belong to anybody. “Is it too early for biscuits?”

“Yes.” Leah answers immediately. “We’ve only been here half an hour. Jamie’s not even here yet.”

Jack pulls a face. There’s a new packet of viennese fingers in the tin and he’s been looking forward to opening it since about three o’clock yesterday afternoon.

“Fine.” He sighs, pretending to be more bothered than he really is. “Be boring and grown up.”

Leah finally looks up from her screen and rolls her eyes at him. “Don’t start with me, I’m doing last week’s hours.”

The threat that he won’t get credited for the hours he puts in is entirely fake, but Jack pretends to believe her.

“Sorry boss. Won’t happen again, boss.” He sets a cup of tea on the coaster by her keyboard. “I’ll get back in my corner now.” He delivers Ben’s coffee and takes his own tea back to his desk.

There’s not enough social media work for the team to fill in the hours Leah’s plugging into her spreadsheet for him - he puts in an average of 16 hours a week of office work, and it doesn’t take that long to update the Twitter feed, Facebook and Instagram. At the start of the season it took up more of his time, getting everything set up, but now it normally only takes a couple of hours spread out across the week to update the accounts and a couple more to plan their strategies.

When he’d admitted to Leah that he really didn’t have much to do, he’d expected to end up with admin work, helping out with assembling sponsorship packs with Jamie or something, but Leah just set up a Skype call with Jo and now Jack’s not only running the social media for some of Stan’s other businesses but he’s working with some guys in Toronto to put together a social media policy for Stan’s nephew’s business. This time last year he had a factory job that he hated, and now he can legitimately say that he’s designing policy for an international company.

That’s pretty cool.

 

Jamie fits his office hours around the school run for Scott's kids, so he’s always the last into the office, carrying the cardboard cup that gives away his habit of going through the Costa drive through on the way home every day.

“You should get one of those reusable cups.” Ben tells him for the umpteenth time. “Or take one of the ones from the kitchen.”

“Can you do that at the drive through?” Leah sounds like she’s never considered it before. “I always go into the shop, I think I’ve only been through the drive through like once in my entire life.”

Jamie shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried. I guess I could find out?”

“Yeah. Let me know?”

“Sure.” Jamie puts his coffee on his desk and turns on his computer.

Jack doesn’t need to look at Ben to know that he’s enjoying this as much as Jack is. Jamie’s had this low-level crush on Leah ever since they met, and he’s still slightly awkward around her despite living and working together. Jamie’s clearly got no intention of doing anything about it - it’s pretty obvious that Leah hasn’t even noticed and definitely isn’t interested - so there’s very little risk of it all going wrong and Jack’s just enjoying their daily soap opera.

 

Jo’s also got Ben working on non-Huskies projects, as maintaining the team's website and the office computers doesn't take up that much time. Jack doesn't really understand the details - Ben’s tried to explain but he has a habit of drifting into technical language that makes no sense to anybody else - but the thing he's currently muttering at is some kind of database for the sales team in Canada.

“Don't they have their own IT people?” Ben had asked, when Jo first suggested it.

Jo had just shrugged. It seems like the Toronto office were quite happy to have an extra person pitch in for a few hours each week, since Stan’s company were employing him anyway.

 _IT Developer._ Like Jack’s _Assistant Media Coordinator,_ it sounds like the kind of proper grown up job that their mothers would like then to have. Something with a future.

Jack's family in particular don't really get hockey. They support him one hundred percent, always have done, but nobody else in his extended family is into sport at all. Guys who look like Jack don't fit the stereotype.

 

Jack doesn't feel like he's different. He's just as English as any other kid he went to school with. Both his parents and three of his grandparents are British citizens born in the UK. Nana Jane’s never left the country, even on holiday.

Jack doesn't speak any other languages, and the one solitary time some idiot told him to go back where he came from he let his accent come through as thick as possible and told him _I'm from Exeter, you cock._

He's never had any trouble on the ice - nobody seems to care what colour your skin is under your pads when you can land a hit like Jack does, or a score a goal like Jamie, and with only their faces really visible it's much easier for people to casually refer to him as _number six_ than to describe him.

The lack of racist chirping is probably helped by the fact that your average hockey player isn’t that smart, and they can’t come up with anything that he actually finds insulting. Pointing out the colour of Jack’s skin is a fact, not a chirp, and nothing they’ve ever said to him puts him off his game. Plus he’s got three sisters, and most guys figured out quite quickly that the best way to make teenage-Jack angry was to make inappropriate comments about Laura, Bex or Sammy.

Being the only non-white kid in his year at school was more of a challenge than anything any idiot can come out with when they’re battling along the boards.

 

It does strike him as funny, sometimes, though, that for such a majority-white sport, he's ended up sharing an office with Jamie and Jo, leaving Ben and Leah as the minority group for once.

Jo might only be here one week in every four or so, but the desk furthest from the door is definitely _Jo’s Desk_ and as far as Jack's concerned, she's a full member of their little team.

 

Jack’s Media degree was his fall-back, something he studied because he wanted to have a degree so that he can get what his sister calls a “real job” when he can't play hockey any more. He didn't ever expect to be able to use it _with_ his hockey, but this setup is perfect. He can get real world experience of actually working in the field, but do it in a context that he knows inside out. When hockey comes to an end and he has to get a full time job, he'll know what he's doing and his CV will look much better.

He's finished checking for urgent things that have to be dealt with straight away, and he's got his cup of tea, so he settles in and opens the email that Casey sent him late last night, just before the Toronto office finished for the day. Jack's never met Jo’s assistant, but he'd like to.

_Hockey pranks survey results!_

Jack loves this job.

They’d been asked to let a group of Film and Photography students have access to the team for three or four weeks for a project on the online media of sports teams, and Jack has somehow managed to persuade the students that they want to stay on and be the official media crew for the rest of the season.

They’ve put together a proposal for some behind the scenes Huskies footage, a bit like the NHL teams do only without a professional film crew, and Jack included a plan for an episode based entirely on the pranks that he and Ben have pulled on their teammates. Leah had read it over, given him that look that said she could see right through him, and told him to go ahead. She just wants to be kept up to date on their plans so it doesn't get out of hand.

So now he's legitimately planning his pranks during working hours, and utilising international resources to do it.

Well, what would be the point of having contacts in Canada and then _not_ getting Casey to ask everybody for their favourite pranks from junior or rec hockey?

 

Everybody knows about the team of students and the behind the scenes footage they’re filming, and so it's easy to explain away having a camera without making everybody wary about pranks.

Ben's in on it, of course, because they're a team, he's his D partner and Jack’s not planning pranks without him. Ethan's on board, because he's an evil genius and they both need him and don't want him in opposition, and Jamie's also in the know because they couldn't plan it without him figuring something was up and they don't want him to tell anybody else.

They'd had a bit of a breakthrough at the last planning meeting, where they piled into the little office and got paid to talk about pranking their teammates.

 

“It's all been done before, though.” Jack had stared at his notes, hoping that something clever and new would jump out at him.

“Maybe we need to try a different strategy.” Jamie suggested, slowly. “Maybe… What if we just go with the classics? The ones that always work, but we just keep doing it? We get everybody?”

“...like, all at once?” Jack wrote _classics? everybody?_ and drew a circle around it.

“No, like, one at a time. Get everybody on edge.”

“And then don’t do the last few.” Ethan had chipped in, fired up with enthusiasm. “So they’re constantly waiting for it and it never comes.”

“So we're filming the planning, and the results, but also the effect it has on the room?” Jack noted that down. “I like it.”

“We should do us, too.” Ben said, starting to talk over him. “Like, we're in on it, we know when it's happening, but the others will get confused because it'll look like somebody else must be doing it.”

“That,” Jack pointed at him with the pen, “is genius.” He expanded the gesture to take in Jamie and Ethan. “This is gold.”

 

The informal survey results have _tape on skate blade_ at the top, followed by _pie._

Jack’s dividing the ideas into pranks they can carry out without being seen, and pranks where it's obvious who's behind it.

You can't push a towel full of shaving foam into somebody's face without them knowing who you are, and you can't steal a guy’s clothes while he's in the shower without the rest of the team seeing you. They're good ones, but they don't fit the campaign of stealth and misdirection that he's planning.

Luckily, Casey’s list goes on far enough that he has to scroll down to see it on the monitor, and some of the pranks are things that even Jack’s never thought of before.

 

*

 

Jamie’s got his laptop hooked up to the TV in the big sitting room, and he’s watching NHL videos with Maisie, Stan and a few of the guys.

Scott and Felicity must be resigned to all of their babysitting being distinctly hockey-flavoured. To be fair, Maisie’s as hockey-mad as the rest of them. Jack feels the occasional moment of sympathy for Felicity, so outnumbered in her own home.

“What’cha watching?” Jack slides over the arm of the sofa and into one of the empty seats.

“Ten Best Intermissions.”

“Uh-huh.”

Jack only wishes that the Huskies had the kind of budget for this sort of on-ice show.

This kind of budget, full stop, actually.

 

They’re arguing over who’d win on-ice zorb-racing when the clip switches to a mascot dance-off, and they seamlessly move on to arguing about whether Hector could beat Ernie The Eagle, Pasha the Puma or whatever that abomination is that the Griffins call a mascot.

The general consensus is that Pasha’s the only real competition.

“Hector should dance, though.” Vince muses. “That would be cool.”

“He’d be good at it, too, I think.” Maisie’s opinion is stated firmly, with no room for further debate.

Nobody wants to argue with Maisie on intangible subjects like this. They’ve all lost debates with her and it’s kind of embarrassing to be outmaneuvered by a seven year old.

On screen, a large blue fox is doing the Cha Cha Slide. At least, Jack thinks it’s supposed to be a fox.

“That one. Can we teach Hector that one?” Maisie looks around the room, and everybody turns to Jack.

“What are you looking at me for?”

“You’re usually first on the dance floor.” Ifan points out. “You’re not shy, you probably know the dance.”

Oh no. Jack’s not taking the fall on this one. “Actually, your expert for this sort of thing is my good friend Benjamin.”

Ben shoots him a look full of betrayal.

“My good friend Benjamin,” Jack continues, “has four sisters, and is the secret master of any dance with set steps. The Macarena, Saturday Night… If you need somebody to teach Hector the Cha Cha Slide, Tucks is your man.”

“What about it, Tucks?” Ifan asks, once the laughter stops. “Can you teach it to-”

“To _Hector?"_  Stan interrupts, before Ifan can use any other names. He shoots a pointed look towards Maisie, who’s staring at Ben and waiting for an answer. Personally Jack thinks that Maisie’s well aware that Hector’s somebody in a costume, but he’s not about to say so, just in case.

“Uh... “ Ben gives up the fight. “Sure. I reckon I can do that. I can teach _Hector_ the Cha Cha Slide, if he’s up for it.”

Everybody looks at Alec. Alec sighs.

“I’ll ask him, okay?”

“But if I’m going to do this, I think we should make it a bigger thing. Film it for the website.” Ben shoots Jack a triumphant look, one that says if he’s going to get thrown under the bus, he’s taking Jack and as many of the rest of them as he can down with him.

Stan checks his watch. “Maisie, I think it’s time for us to get you home, and for these boys to get ready for training.”

There’s a general flurry as everybody digs out their phones and checks the time, despite Jamie’s laptop showing it on the TV. It is about time they were getting moving.

 

Maisie pauses in the doorway after Stan’s left the room.

“You have to be careful.” She admonishes them. “Uncle Stan thinks that Hector’s real, and we mustn’t spoil it.”

The door swings shut behind her, and nobody really has anything to say to that.

 

*

 

Being the only boy in a family full of girls was just one of the things that Jack and Ben bonded over.

Jack hadn’t come to the Huskies looking for the perfect defense partner. He hadn’t come to the Huskies looking for anything other than the chance to make another step forward, out of the NIHL, on towards the day when maybe he could play for a team that might actually win something. The Huskies were just a means to an end, a way to get himself on the radar.

He hadn’t expected the team to grab his heart.

The Huskies are - were - a weak team. No money, no trophies, very little hope. The only thing that they had was a dogged (ha) determination to never give up, and a tiny but fiercely loyal fan base.

Max cared about the team. William cared about the team. Ifan and Ross cared about the team. Nobody else stuck around for very long.

The thing is, looking back, Jack can see what Max was trying to do. He didn’t have the money to get good players, so instead he went looking for loyal players, the kind of guys who really bought into what _team_ means. He took advantage of the fact that young guys like Jack were prepared to play for the team for a season on their way to somewhere else, and he searched through those guys looking for the ones who might really be Huskies.

It says a lot, that 12 of the guys on this year’s roster were here last season. It says that Max is good at finding the kind of guys he’s looking for.

 

Jack and Ben clicked pretty much immediately, which was lucky because Max put them together on the ice and together in a cramped house they had to share with Ifan and Tiny.

Tiny's also only got sisters, but the younger one’s special needs and he didn't spend his childhood being outnumbered in the same way Jack and Ben did.

Tiny doesn’t seem to have grown up wishing that he had just _one_ brother, the way that Jack and Ben both did.

Ifan grew up wishing he had _less_ brothers, so he doesn’t count.

 

Ben gets kind of touchy about his stuff and his personal space sometimes, and he tends to blow up without actually warning anybody first. It took Jack a while to figure out that Ben was never going to say _hey, Fish, I just want to chill on my own for a bit_ like an adult and that he was going to have to learn the little signs that meant that Ben was due to rip his head off for changing the channel on the telly or daring to brush his teeth when Ben wanted to shower.

He knows all those signs, now, and most of the time at least he knows when to go and find somebody else to hang out with so Ben can have some space. It’s easier here, when there’s so much more room, and so many more people to talk to, but Ben’s still Jack’s favourite person to hang out with.

Jack’s learnt Ben’s little tells, and in return Ben’s become the perfect buddy for watching TV or sharing a tablet screen on long bus journeys. Jack’s vaguely aware that not everybody’s as tactile as he is, but Ben also grew up being used as a pillow by his sisters and so he gets it, without ever having to talk about it, that sometimes Jack just likes to…

Well. Cuddle.


	18. Hike!

_EPISODE ONE - “FACEOFF”_

_INTERIOR: The Lobby of the Ice Rink_

_“Hello, and welcome to_ Hike! _\- your one-stop place for all the behind-the-scenes Huskies action!”_

_LIZZIE is talking to the camera, walking backwards as she speaks_

_“We’ve got exclusive access to the Huskies’ locker room, so you can see exactly what happens off the ice.”_

That is… not entirely true. The film crew have exclusive access to the Huskies’ locker room so that the fans can see a _highly edited_ version of what happens off the ice. The guys have all been asked to watch their language when the film crew are in, and the crew have been warned that there will inevitably be some incidental nudity that has to be edited out.

_Lizzie leads the cameras through the turnstile and then through the doors to the ice, where WILLIAM is waiting for them._

_“Huskies Captain William Walker is here to give us the tour.”_

_“Hi, everybody.” William waves awkwardly to the camera. “Come on in.”_

_A training session is in progress. A few of the players are out on the ice in practice jerseys, skating drills. William leads the viewers around the ice._

_“This is Malcolm.” MALCOLM looks up from the stick he’s sawing to length. “Malcolm’s the Huskies’ Equipment Manager, and he makes sure that we’ve got everything we need ready for game time.” Malcolm gives them a nod, and they move on._

_“And down here…” William takes them down the corridor that leads to the locker room._ _“Is our room.”_

_The door opens as they get there, and IFAN and PETR walk out, smiling for the camera as they pass._

_William gestures around the room. “This is where we get ready for training and games.”_

_JAN is in the locker room, pulling the practice jersey on over his pads. He picks up his helmet, nods to the camera without smiling, and leaves the room._

_The camera pans around the room, taking in the names over the stalls and the things that the team have left behind when they went out to the ice. Any fans who care about these kind of details can see that JAMIE and MARK have adjacent stalls, that the defense are grouped together, and the most observant viewers might notice that ROSS and JONNY’S stalls are on opposite sides of the room._

_“You’re welcome to stay and watch the training session, but I’m going to have to ask you to go now, as I need to get changed.” The camera moves back a little, and then zooms in as William turns his back and starts to take off his shirt. Lizzie steps into the frame, blocking the view with a close-up of her face as she shakes her head and pushes the camera around towards the door._

 

*

 

When Lizzie, Erin, Ryan and Noah submit their project they include a selection of their favourite out-takes.

Erin’s favourite is the three attempts it takes to get through the turnstile without either Ryan and the sound or Noah and the camera getting stuck.

Ryan’s favourite is the collision in the corridor outside the locker room the first time they try to pass Ifan and Petr, when they realised just how much space two guys in hockey pads and two guys with camera equipment actually need.

Noah’s favourite is the moment they realised that Devon had left his underwear on top of the clothing piled in his stall, half turned inside-out where he’d apparently taken it off in a hurry, and William’s snort of laughter when he’d noticed.

Lizzie’s favourite is the number of times it takes for William to deliver the line _“You’re welcome to stay and watch the training session, but I’m going to have to ask you to go now, as I need to get changed”_ without getting the words in the wrong order or sounding like he’s reading it.

 

*

 

_EPISODE THREE - “HECTOR’S GOT THE MOVES”_

_INTERIOR: The Ballroom. HECTOR, TUCKER, FISHER, TINY, CALLUM and PETR are learning to dance the_ Cha Cha Slide _. MAISIE HOWARD is directing._

_They complete the first set of steps, and then Petr goes left when he should have gone right and collides with Fisher._

_“No, no, stop stop STOP!” Maisie plants her hands on her hips and glares at them all. “You need to work HARDER!”_

_The guys all mumble apologies, shuffling their feet._

_“Okay, we’ll go again!” Maisie claps her hands and they all get ready to start again._

There’s a separate set of footage where Ben Tucker patiently teaches the dance to Maisie. It won’t be on the website, but Lizzie’s determined to fit it into her project somehow. It’s too cute not to use.

Tucker also had to teach Hector separately, because once he’s got that head on he can’t see much and it’s hardly fair to expect him to pick up the steps with the suit on.

_The music starts again, and they all start to dance. Maisie watches them with a critical eye._

_“Good. Much better. Pick your feet up, Tiny!”_

 

They filmed the little interview sections in the small sitting room, where the wallpaper makes just the right kind of background.

 _“Hector's definitely a good dancer.”_ [CAPTION: _Maisie Howard - Director of Choreography_ ] _“He works hard, and he doesn't argue back like some of the boys do.”_

 

_INTERIOR: The ice rink. Hector is on the ice, wearing a Huskies training jersey instead of the one with his name on that he wears for games. Also on on the ice are some of the girls from the figure skating class. Maisie is standing by the boards with the ice dancing coach._

_The skaters are already part of the way through the dance. Hector is executing the steps correctly, but he slips and falls and ends up sitting on the ice while three of the girls try to help him up._

(That bit’s not actually staged.)

 

 _“We're all competitive people.”_ [CAPTION: _Jack Fisher - Defenseman_ ] _“We want to win at everything we do, and we're proud of Hector. There's nobody else in the league who could match him.”_

The camera pans left to reveal Hector sitting next to Fisher. Hector waves. [CAPTION: _Hector The Husky - Mascot]_

 

 _INTERIOR: The ice rink. The intermission show between the second and third periods. Hector takes to the ice, accompanied by the figure skaters. They dance the_ Cha Cha Slide _, perfectly. The crowd cheers, and several small children in the audience can be seen trying to copy. Maisie is standing on the home bench, with her arms folded, looking satisfied._

 

*

 

_[PUMAS]_

“Have you seen this?” Addy’s got his phone out as he bursts into the locker room. “The Huskies have put a video out where they're saying their mascot is better than Pasha!”

“What?”

Addy mistakes Josh’s confusion for outrage. “I know, right? Just because their stupid dog is an ice dancer.”

“What are you talking about?” Josh grabs Addy’s arm so that he stops waving his phone around and Josh can see the screen. “Let's see.”

Half the team end up clustered around Addy to see the video of the Huskies’ mascot doing a pretty good job of the _Cha Cha Slide_ on ice.

“Pasha can't do that.” Brett points out. “Pasha can't actually skate.”

That's a valid point. The puma costume has feet, and is never worn with skates.

“So… can we get him to dance instead?”

Josh grins as an idea occurs to him. “We might. I need to call my brother.”

 

The Pumas video is posted three days after the third episode of _Hike!_ went up on the Huskies website. It's filmed at Jimmy Latimer’s School Of Dance, with the school’s logo featured prominently, and the guy teaching Pasha to dance is the Scorpions’ back up netminder.

 _“Well, when I heard that Pasha was looking for a dance teacher, it seemed obvious that Ricky’s the guy for the job.”_ The Lewis brothers are being interviewed in a corner of the dance studio. Pasha can be seen in the mirror, stretching at the barre. _“Pasha and the Pumas may be our rivals, but Josh is my brother and when it comes to a matter of honour like this, we can put all that aside.”_

(It helps, of course, that the Scorpions don't have a mascot of their own.)

 

*

 

_[BLIZZARD]_

The Blizzard post their video on Twitter, and tag the Huskies’ account so Jack sees it right away.

It starts with that clip from the Pumas, where Jamie Lewis is talking about supporting his brother, and then cuts to Dai Evans sitting on a couch with Snowy, who's probably some kind of cat.

There's a small table in front of them holding an old fashioned telephone and a framed photograph of Dai with Ifan. Dai and Snowy watch the phone, which doesn't ring.

Jack watches the clip twice, then opens the office door and yells into the house.

“IFAN!”

 

*

 

Jack puts the response on Twitter later that afternoon. It's just a short clip of Ifan getting his phone out and dialling.

The Blizzard must have prepared for this, because whoever does their Twitter account responds immediately with a clip of Dai and Snowy on the same couch as before, only this time the phone rings and Dai picks it up.

“Helô? Ifan!”


	19. Max Davies

Jonny's in the net tonight, and Max is happy with his decision. The score’s tied at 1-1 in the final five minutes, but the goal that got past Jonny would almost certainly have got past Ross, and Jonny’s had a couple of spectacular saves to keep the score level.

Vince is the lone scorer for the Huskies, but the whole team has pulled together. Jan’s clearly frustrated that they haven't scored more, and Ethan's got a particularly determined look on his face like he does every time they play against his former team.

Ross is quiet at the end of the bench, watching the play and saying nothing. He's always hyper focused, to the point of closing out everybody else, but it wouldn't kill the guy to smile sometimes. It's no wonder he's got a reputation for sulking.

“Hold tight, guys.” Max takes advantage of a stop in play to talk to as many of the guys as are in earshot. “We're getting at least one point out of this.”

 

They get their point with the buzzer at the end of the third, but since they've got this far they might as well push for two.

Overtime means three-on-three, and that means two-way players. The first overtime unit is Vince, for his speed and shot, Jan, who can fall back fast when he has to, and Max himself. He's changed position so many times in his career that sometimes even he forgets that he's a defenseman at heart.

The first OT unit fails to score, but they also keep the Saxons at bay. Jonny kills the puck, and Max’s unit switches with William, Scott and Ethan.

The Saxons win the faceoff, flicking the puck back to their defenseman who hammers in a shot on Jonny. Jonny doesn't try to freeze the puck, passing it out instead to Ethan's waiting stick, and William takes off up the ice. Scott's yelling for the puck, but he's really looking for the attention of the Saxons on the ice, and he gets it for just long enough that Ethan's pass to William goes uninterrupted and William's rushing towards the net.

Winthrop’s focused on the incoming threat, and the Saxons are steaming up the ice to defend him, so William doesn't waste time looking over his shoulder. He just steps and shoots.

 

Max is the first one over the boards, leading his team as they spill onto the ice in celebration. William's roaring his celly, arms in the air, and then he’s turning to look for Max, even as Ethan and Scott are crashing into him. Max piles in on the hug, the team pressing in behind him.

“-puck.”

“What?” It's loud in the middle of all the guys, and Max missed most of what William said.

“I need the puck.”

“Okay.” Max doesn't bother to ask why, just extricates himself from the tangle of Huskies and skates smoothly over to the abandoned Saxons’ net where the puck’s still resting in the paint.

Puck in hand, he turns back towards where Scott is gently encouraging the mass of Huskies to head down to their own end for the post-match announcements. It's one of those moments that Max just can't take for granted, after the struggles they've had to get even to this point - happy faces in Huskies jerseys both on the ice and in the stands, sharing a hard-fought win. Even Ross looks slightly less miserable, whacking Jonny’s pads with his stick in congratulation as the huddle finally starts to disperse.

He doesn't actually _say_ anything to Jonny, not so far as Max can make out, but it's a start.

William grins at Max as he takes the puck, and then heads for the spot where the little girl who's got his own and loan jersey has her hands pressed up against the glass. He holds it out so she can see what he's got, then tosses it over the glass into her father's waiting hands, waving at her before he wheels back round to take a knee on the ice next to Max.

“Cute.” Max bumps his shoulder.

William shrugs. “Means a lot to kids.”

He's looking down at the ice, hiding his smile like he does when he's embarrassed about something but sticking with it anyway.

Max bumps him harder to see if he can knock him over.

 

*

 

“How was Callum?” Andi piles a heap of warm clothes into Max’s arms so that she can transfer the clean towels from the washing machine to the tumble dryer.

“He's doing okay. I should be able to give him more minutes tonight.” Max drops the clothes onto the kitchen table and absent mindedly starts pairing socks. “He's determined to play.”

It might be funny, under other circumstances, the intensity with which Callum watches Devon from the bench. He's clearly desperate to make sure that Devon doesn't steal his spot. Max is having to be careful that Callum doesn’t overdo it, now that he’s back on the ice.

Max actually prefers to put Jamie on Petr's wing, send both Callum and Devon out with Mark, and fill in the gaps himself, but the lads don't seem to have figured that out.

“Good.” Andi pulls the lint trap out of the dryer to clean it. The fluff is always purple, regardless of what's just been through the machine. “I hate seeing them injured, especially the younger ones. They look so lost.”

“We all hate it.” Max piles stray socks to one side and shakes out some of the bigger items from the tangle of clean laundry. “You feel so useless when you want to be out on the ice helping the team. The kids just haven't got used to the fact that sometimes you can't play for a while.”

“When did we get old?” Andi starts the dryer going and joins him at the table. “When did the youngest players get to be so much younger than us?”

Max is thirty four. Andi’s thirty. _Old_ is a relative term.

“I know.” Max sighs. “All of a sudden we have to be the grown ups.”

“It was bad enough when they let you be captain, and then coach...” Andi's laying it on a bit thick, now, teasing. “Who thought you should be responsible?”

“Yeah…” Max carefully slides some of Andi's clean underwear to her side of the table. He doesn't have a problem with girly underthings, there's just no logical way to _fold_ them. “I wasn't expecting to have to raise teenagers just yet.”

“Not in your five year plan?” Andi finds the matching sock for one of his strays and throws it at him.

“No.” Max balls the socks. “I mean, we'd get a place together first, and then when Scott retires we can have the gatehouse and bring up our family there.”

“You've planned it, then?” Andi's got a funny tone to her voice.

“Um…” has he done something wrong?

Andi picks up the duvet cover and Max automatically reaches for the other end.

“Well. I mean. Um. I'm in the Hall until the summer, so, but, um, maybe? I thought you might like to… live together?”

Andi makes him sweat for ten seconds that feel like an hour before she smiles.

“Yeah. Of course I do. I guess I'm just surprised that you've thought it all out.” They untangle the duvet cover and make sure they've got the right corners. “And I'm surprised that you're not planning to bring William with you.”

“Nah.” Max somehow manages to keep a completely straight face. “The gatehouse doesn't have enough bedrooms.”

Andi blinks and then splutters a laugh, stepping away from the table to stretch out the duvet cover so they can fold it.

The last of the missing socks drops onto the floor.

 

*

 

The thing about goalies is that they’re not quite normal - even when your baseline for “normal” is other hockey players.

When Max switches the lines around, or decides who to send out when, the forwards and d-men all know that he’s got to take into account who they’re playing, which of the guys is having a hot streak or a slump, who’s not feeling 100% on any given day. And sure, guys get benched for their attitudes too, you’ve got to put in the effort to earn your minutes even on a bench as short as the Huskies’. At the end of the day, though, the guys all know that there are a lot of things that Max is thinking about when he makes those calls, and most of the time they don’t take it personally.

Goalies, though…

There’s only two of them, for a start, so any time he gives the start to one of them he’s benching the other.

Max has to think about their opponents, and who’s the best fit to face them. He has to think about how Ross and Jonny have been playing, and _why_ , and he has to make a judgement call that normally lasts for the full sixty minutes instead of the shifts that he can rotate the other players through.

 

Ross is the better goalie, a few years older, more experienced. He’s 100% focused on the game, and that’s great unless it goes really badly and he starts to spiral down and blames himself for everything.

Jonny’s less experienced, but he’s keen and he’s got so much potential - and if he’s going to develop that potential, he needs to be on the ice and not on the bench.

Ross needs the games to keep him rolling, to give him the confidence that he’s not out there alone on the ice, that the rest of the team are right there supporting him.

Jonny needs the games to let him grow into the goalie he’s going to be, to let him get to the point where he’s unquestionably starter material.

They can’t both play every game. Ross needs to rest some of them. Jonny needs to face hard games so that if they need to bring him on for a high-pressure situation, it’s not something he hasn’t seen before.

But Ross takes it personally, every time Jonny gets the start, glaring from the bench hard enough to melt the ice. Ross considers himself to be the team’s number one, and if Jonny gets the start then Ross thinks he’s done something wrong.

And Jonny’s desperate to prove himself. He really stepped up for the team, last year, he was the guy behind their winning streak and he’s dying to show that he can do it again.

It’s not like Ross recovered from his injury, Max swapped them over and the Huskies started to lose. He’d have left Jonny in, if that was the case. They couldn’t buy a win with either of the guys in net, once they got to Christmas.

And Jonny’s only seventeen. That’s a lot of pressure to heap on a kid who’s also sitting his A Levels. He’s got plenty of time to grow his game, once this academic year is over. The thing is, Jonny’s only seventeen and so he wants everything right now.

So Max has to make the right decision about who to disappoint every game, and that’s never easy.

 

Facing the Scorpions on their own ice is always hard, and nobody looks surprised that Max is starting Ross.

The Scorpions are starting Lloyd, leaving Larsson on the bench, and Max can’t help feeling proud that his guys are no longer the easy team, the obvious time to play your back-up. The downside to being taken seriously is that they’re facing more focussed opponents.

The other thing is that the Scorpions lost to the Cobras last night, and Powell must have yelled at them all the way home on the bus afterwards, because they’re fired up to redeem themselves on home ice.

“Alright, lads, this one’s going to be tough.” Max tells the Huskies, gathered in the locker room between warm-up and puck-drop. “They’re not going to go easy on us because we’re supposed to be a weaker team, they did that last night up in Wakefield and got embarrassed by it. They’re going to take us seriously, so we have to take ourselves seriously. We’re not a team they can ignore any more, so let’s go out there and remind them of that!”

 

Max hates that he still feels a little bit of pride when Dingo scores. He hasn’t been Max’s rookie for years now, going on to become a career Scorpion when Max got the coaching job at the Huskies, stepping up when Max gave him an A and then going on to pick up Max’s C. When Dingo scores now, it’s against Max’s team, but there’s still a little voice in the back of his head that says _that’s my boy._

 

It was the right choice to put Ross in the net tonight. Dingo gets one past him in the first, but Ross stops several really good shots including an absolute beauty from the blue line. Even Jonny comments on that, just an _ouch_ of admiration that draws a smile from Larsson, propping up the boards next to him.

Jamie Lewis scores in the second, from a scramble that would have got a messy goal for somebody else if he hadn’t tipped it in himself.

Jonny’s tight-lipped on the bench, but it’s the kind of frustration that anybody in the team feels when they’re 2-0 down and even their prettiest shots can’t get past Lloyd.

 

Ross is silent in the locker room during the second intermission, gaze locked on the floor between his feet. Scott sits next to him, providing the sort of quiet support that the other guys don’t seem to be as good at. Ross needs to know that his defense are there as much as any other goalie, but it’s hard for some of them to know how to communicate when he doesn’t seem to notice a slash across the pads or encouragement yelled right in his face.

 

It’s been a clean game, for the most part, and the tripping call against Dominik Štěpán is the first time that the Huskies have been on the power play tonight.

Max sends Vince and Ifan out on Petr’s wings, Fish and Tucks on defense.

Dingo wins the faceoff for the Scorpions, but Fish gets to the puck before it crosses the blue line, keeping it in the zone and passing it forwards to Ifan. Ifan taps it across to Vince, avoiding Lewis’ outstretched stick, and then when Vince shoots and Lloyd gets a pad to it Ifan’s there to collect the rebound and tap it in five-hole.

2-1 down, seventeen minutes still to play, and the game isn’t over yet.

 

3-1 down, twelve minutes to play, and the game can still be salvaged.

 

4-1 down.

 

Ifan gets man of the match for the Huskies. Ross stopped 26 out of 30 shots, but he wouldn’t appreciate having that acknowledged when they didn’t win.

 

*

 

Having Callum return to the line-up brings them back up to ten forwards, but it’s a reminder that they don’t have any kind of breathing room in the roster for injury cover.

They’ve never had any breathing room for anything, in the whole time that Max has been here.

The difference now, though, is that Max doesn’t have to figure it out by himself.

 

“We’ve got three empty bedrooms.” Leah says, with a shrug, when they sit down on Tuesday afternoon to talk about it. “Four, actually, now that Callum’s gone home. We can offer accommodation. And we can find household maintenance hours for somebody practical. We don’t really have any more admin hours to offer.”

“We can afford somebody on the same level as Jamie, Ben or Jack.” Jo’s joining them via Skype from Toronto.

“So not a rookie, but not a veteran.” Stan qualifies. “Unless we can pick up a veteran who’s easing back on hockey.”

“Somebody like that probably won’t be looking at moving mid-season.” Max looks down at his scribbled notes. “I guess filling one of our empty import slots is out of the question, then?”

Jo frowns. “We can’t really afford import wages, even if we can find somebody mid-season.”

True. Anybody they can tempt away mid-season is likely to be expensive.

“Imports?” Leah looks up from the spreadsheet she’s got open on her laptop.

“Non-British trained players.” Max repeats, puzzled that she doesn’t understand. “Have we never talked about...?”

Leah shakes her head slowly. “Don’t think so.”

Max glances around in case anybody wants to take over the explanation, but nobody looks desperate to jump in. “I guess it hasn’t been a big deal because we’ve only got Jan, Petr and Devon, but there are rules about how many non-British trained players we can have. No more than five on the team, no more than four dressed for a game, no more than three on the ice at once. But, since the guys who are prepared to come and play over here generally get paid a bit more, we could never afford to have as many as we were allowed anyway.”

“And we still can’t, even now.” Leah makes it a statement rather than a question. The Huskies’ finances may be improving, but they’ve only just managed to settle the outstanding back pay for the players who’d agreed to go short at the start of the season, they can’t go crazy with expansion plans just yet.

“Did you have anybody in mind?” Stan pulls the conversation back on track, nodding to Max’s notebook.

“Well…”

Max is looking for a utility player, somebody who can put up reliable third-line minutes, make a step up to the second line if they really need him to. A forward who can drop back to defense, ideally, although Max himself can cover for an injured defenseman if there’s enough skaters to manage without him up front.

He taps his pen against the page, where he’s scrawled a few names. “There are a couple of guys who might be available, if the rumours I hear are correct…”

 

*

 

They’re away to the Tornadoes on Saturday. Another tough game, another start for Ross.

The Tornadoes are having their own goalie issues at the moment, and Forsythe’s in their net. He’s too experienced to look rattled, but Max spends half of warm-up watching the Tornadoes’ drills rather than the Huskies’, and the home team look a little unsteady. The Tornadoes have played ten games since they last met, and they’ve lost eight of them, only beating the bottom-dwelling Cobras and the Saxons in the throes of their own dramas.

The Saxons are one point ahead of the Huskies, and the Cobras four points behind. The Tornadoes are only two points ahead, and Max honestly doesn’t know how this game’s going to go.

 

They’re unexpectedly well-matched, tonight. The Tornadoes have arguably the better team, in terms of the skills of their players, but the Huskies are a better _team_. The Tornadoes are listening to Dunleavy, yelling at them from behind the bench, but they’re not really listening to each other.

That doesn’t stop them scoring - Jansons takes advantage of a sloppy Huskies line change to go one-on-one with Ross, and although for a second they all think that Ross has got it, the puck trickles over the line and the red light goes on.

Ethan gets called for holding, and the Tornadoes take fifty-eight seconds to turn a power play into a goal.

“Let’s go, lads!” William yells along the bench, as they’re preparing to go out for the centre-ice faceoff. “We can’t get beaten by this lot!”

Max smiles, as William follows Jan onto the ice. Somehow even the Huskies have found a team that they’re embarrassed to be beaten by.

(It’s probably best not to try and work out the last time that the Huskies beat the Tornadoes. Max can’t remember, that’s for sure.)

 

William’s fired the guys up, and Jan and Vince combine for a pretty effort a minute later which at least gets them on the board, and they go into the first intermission 2-1 down.

“Right, lads.” Max grabs the playboard and uncaps a pen with his teeth. “We’re one down, and they’ve got home ice, but I’ve noticed a couple of things about their defense...”

 

The Huskies listen to Max, and they listen to each other, and Petr sets William up for what would be an absolute beauty of a shot if Forsythe hadn’t reacted fast enough to get a pad to it at the last second. He can’t freeze the puck, though, and Jamie’s there to lift it into the back of the net.

The Tornadoes have the net by the away fans, this period, and so Jamie takes his celly to the glass where the Huskies fans can join in. William collects him to skate to the bench, and they’re tied with half the game still to play.

 

Play’s down behind the Tornadoes net, early in the third, when the referee’s arm goes up for a delayed penalty. Mark emerges from the scramble along the boards with possession of the puck, and the referee’s arm is still in the air as Ross skates hard for the bench, hurling himself through the open gate as Vince flows over the boards.

Mark’s got Ellison on his heels, so he passes over to Devon and slams on the brakes to get clear in the hope that he’ll be able to get a lane so Devon can pass back. Instead, Devon dekes like he’s going to shoot, and drops the puck back to where Vince is charging into the zone. Forsythe’s half committed to Devon’s fake, keeping an eye on where Mark has shaken off Ellison, and when Vince steps and shoots he can’t be in three places at once. He throws a shoulder towards the puck, but it bounces behind him and the buzzer goes.

Devon whoops as he follows Vince along the bench of outstretched gloves.

2-3. Sixteen minutes to play.

 

The Tornadoes level the score because Ross gets completely abandoned with six minutes left on the clock. Max doesn’t need to yell at the guys for leaving Ross out to dry, the guilty looks on their faces say it all, but he yells anyway because Ross needs to hear him doing it.

What might have been a regulation win becomes a push for overtime, as the Tornadoes step up the pressure and the Huskies defense throw everything they’ve got in front of Ross.

Ethan comes off for a line change with a wince, favouring his right leg as he moves to the bench. Max notes the final forty seconds running down the clock and decides that Tucker and Fish can finish this one out.

 

It goes to penalty shots, in the end, and Max doesn’t say anything but when he meets William’s eyes they both know this is unlikely to go in their favour.

The Huskies might be better at playing as a team, but the Tornadoes have the skilled players and penalty shots means there’s just one guy out there trying to score.

What it comes down to, now, is whether Forsythe’s easy to beat. Ross is pretty good, one-on-one, but the Tornadoes have their pick of guys who are really good at this. The Huskies have options, sure, but whether those options are good enough to get past Forsythe…

 

William’s first up. He keeps it simple, too simple perhaps, because Forsythe tracks it and it’s obvious from the second the puck leaves William’s stick that it’s not going to get past him.

Forsythe knocks it away with his stick, and they swap.

The Tornadoes send out Jansons. He doesn’t keep it simple, maybe because Forsythe stopped William’s shot, maybe because he’s just that sort of player, but he overdoes it, leaves it just a hair too late to commit to a shot and Ross is able to catch it.

0-0.

Jan goes next, picking up speed so that as he collects the puck from centre ice he’s already powering down towards Forsythe, and there’s a split second where he’s right in front of the net and it feels like nobody knows which way he’s going, maybe not even Jan, and then he scoops the puck around Forsythe’s outstretched pad and into the net.

0-1.

Toft takes to the ice for the Tornadoes. Max has a secret wishlist of players he’d sign if money and their existing loyalties didn’t have to be taken into account, and Anders Toft is right up there. He’s one of those guys that everybody likes to watch skate, even when he’s about to do something like trick your goalie into committing early and then lift the puck over his shoulder…

1-1.

Vince’s turn. Vince doesn’t over-simplify, like William, or over-complicate like Jansons, just skates a twisting line down towards Forsythe, dekes right, shoots left - and the post saves Forsythe. There’s a groan from the Huskies fans, a cheer from the Tornadoes fans, and Forysthe’s face as he skates into the bench says that he knows he got lucky.

1-1.

Collins takes the third shot for the Tornadoes. It looks like he’s keeping it simple, it looks like Ross is tracking him, like he’s going to be in the right place for the save when the shot comes, but at the last second Collins does something fancy and shoots backhand over Ross’ right shoulder.

1-2.

Tornadoes win.

 

*

 

“Is there a clever plan for tonight, then, boss?” William’s taken the treadmill next to him, and they will both deny that they’re racing. This is a low intensity workout due to the game tonight.

Max nudges the speed up on his machine, and in the mirror William’s reflection does the same. Nobody else is in the gym at this time on a Sunday.

“Beat them.”

“I like it. Not too complicated.” William fiddles with the incline on his treadmill so that it matches Max’s.

Max laughs, because they’re not racing, so he's not running at full speed and he has spare lung capacity.

 

The Piranhas are one place behind them in the table, separated only on goal difference, but they’ve had a few weeknight games and the Huskies have four games in hand. That’s going to be an issue after Christmas, when they have to play five games in nine days not once but twice, but for now it means that the gap between eighth and ninth is bigger than it looks. Since that’s also the cutoff line to qualify for playoffs, Max isn’t about to let his guys get complacent. Every game they win is two points that could take them up the table, and every game they win against the Piranhas keeps their nearest challengers off their tail.

 

“Who are you starting?” William can get away with these kind of questions, because he’s the captain and also Max’s closest friend.

“Jonny.”

“Hmm.” William nods agreement. The Piranhas are the ideal team for Jonny to get ice time against, because they’re not so much of a threat as some of the others, and because putting Jonny in the net will remind the rest of the team not to sit back.

It’s not great, sitting Ross for an easy game after two losses, but hopefully he will realise that it’s a rest for him and a chance for Jonny, rather than a suggestion that Max doesn’t think Ross will play well against the Piranhas.

Max should probably talk to Ross.

 

*

 

Leah and Roberto had already planned to order in for dinner, since you don’t spring an order for more than twenty pizzas at eight o’clock on a Sunday evening, but it feels like a celebration when the whole team are gathered in the biggest sitting room with a 3-0 win under their collective belts.

Everybody’s come back for pizza, even the guys who don’t live in. Even Callum, who has to keep his family convinced that he’s taking his studies seriously. Even Devon, the youngest player.

Even Ross.

Jonny’s in the middle of a cluster of the younger guys, at one end of the room, sharing a three-seater couch with Mark, Jamie and Devon. Callum’s pulled over one of the armchairs, granted a whole seat to himself due to his recent concussion, although he’s dragged Tiny into their orbit and Max is expecting to find that Tiny’s got the seat and Callum’s perched on the arm next time he looks over.

Tiny’s too big to sit on the arms of furniture. It makes Leah twitchy.

Fish is sitting on the coffee table, which has proven itself capable of supporting two hockey players when Leah’s not looking, and he’s telling some kind of enthusiastic story which is apparently primarily a distraction to allow Tucks to lean in over the back of the sofa and steal slices of pizza from Mark and Devon.

Ross isn’t really a part of any groups, he doesn’t seem to have any close friends on the team. It’s got to be harder for the guys who don’t live in, because they’re not there for all of the little moments that build the in-jokes and the weird family vibe they’ve got going on, but most of them seem to manage okay. Callum’s underfoot as often as not, especially since he spent the first ten days of his concussion staying in one of the spare rooms, and Jonny’s started coming over more often, initially so they can work on homework together and then just to hang out. Even Devon shows up most days, somehow absorbed into the school run with Scott’s kids.

It’s just Ross who only turns up for scheduled team meals or meetings. Maybe that’s why, when everybody is laughing and squabbling over the pizza, Ross has settled on one of the beanbags that Leah bought when it became clear that people were going to sit on the floor, Ester sniffing around his feet.

“Can you smell Scout?” He’s asking, as Max liberates a pizza box from Ethan and settles on the end of the nearest sofa. “Do you remember Scout, from the shelter?”

Ross and his family adopted the dog that Ross had for the photoshoot that led to Ester joining the team. Max has bumped into them when he’s been out for a run, sometimes.

“Glad you could join us this evening.” Max opens the box to see what he’s stolen. “Pepperoni?”

Ross shoots him a glance, faintly suspicious, just to check that Max isn’t taking the piss, before he helps himself to pizza.

“I don’t have to get up too early tomorrow.” Ross works in his dad’s business, of course, because Ross doesn’t do much that his father’s not heavily involved in. Colin Prince’s fundraising team have been essential to keeping the fans engaged and the Huskies afloat, and Max isn’t likely to forget that. He just sometimes wishes that Ross was a little more independent.

“Hey.” William drops into the spot next to Max. “Beer?” He’s juggling a pizza box and three open bottles of Corona. “You driving?”

“I can pick the car up tomorrow.” Ross produces a rare smile as he accepts a beer, and William grins back at him. He’s a couple of beers in already, but one of William’s most irritating attributes is the way he can drink but never seems to suffer for it.

“Nice one.” William passes a beer to Max, and opens his pizza box. “Who wants to trade me for a slice of…” he tilts the box carefully to see what it’s supposed to be. “Vegetable Supreme?”


	20. Vince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of these chapters contain more sensitive themes than others. I'm not going to be using the tags, because that seems to pull through and tag the whole series and I don't want the whole of _Back Up There_ tagged for just one chapter in one fic, so whenever there's something particularly sensitive I will warn in the chapter start notes, and if you're particularly worried about tags then you can jump down to the chapter end notes for the warnings.
> 
> If you ever feel that, after checking the end notes, you want to skip a chapter, you are more than welcome to drop me a message over at [the tumblr](http://www.backupthere.tumblr.com) and I can give you a summary of any key plot points that you might need for a "previously, on _Hector's Boys_ " before you go on to the next chapter.
> 
>  
> 
>  **There are warnings for this chapter in the end notes.** The warnings relate to off-screen events only.

League table 23rd December 2016

Vince glares at his reflection and admits that he's being ridiculous, then takes a deep breath and heads out into the hallway to knock on Ethan's door.

“It's open!”

Vince pushes the door open in response to Ethan's shout. It's weird to think that he's never been in here, but they're not exactly close and it's not like all the guys pile into Ethan’s room the same way they do with, say, Fish.

“Hey Vince.” Ethan says, as if they're in and out of each other's space all the time. “What time are we going?”

“About half past.” Vince glances down at his watch automatically, and is reminded of the reason for his visit by the tub in his hand. “So, I'm having an emergency.”

Ethan looks at the empty pot and grins. “Definitely. What do you need?” He gestures towards the bathroom, inviting Vince to inspect his hair products.

“You're a lifesaver.” Vince shouldn't be this relieved over something as simple as hair gel, but this is the first night out that they've had in ages and it wasn't a great start to the evening when he realised that he’d completely forgotten to pick up some more when he was in town yesterday.

Ethan laughs. “No problem. You'd be my first call if I ran out.”

Vince looks at the array of products crammed onto the bathroom shelves and raises an eyebrow. It looks like Ethan's all set for grooming products until about 2018.

“I think Tiny's probably got some stuff that his sister gave him last Christmas.” He jokes. Well, sort of jokes. It's probably true.

Ethan snorts. “And Mark and Jamie are probably sharing a pot of whatever was on special offer last time they went to the supermarket.”

Vince grins at him through the mirror, then picks one of Ethan’s three (three!) hair gels and sorts his hair out with his usual efficiency.

 

They don't have a game until Monday, thanks to the Christmas weekend, and most of them are taking the rare chance for a lads’ night out. Scott and Max are spending the evening with their significant others, which is fair enough, but most of the lads aren't leaving until tomorrow if they're going home at all, and Jan's girlfriend isn't coming down until the morning. That means that almost everybody who's old enough to get into the bars they're planning to inflict themselves on is coming out.

They've even talked Ross into coming out to celebrate his back to back wins last weekend.

 

Somebody's phone is hooked up to the stereo in the big sitting room - not Petr's, given that the music doesn't make Vince want to cry - and there's a case of beers open. Vince grabs one for himself, and one for Ethan since they came downstairs together.

“Leah!” Fish calls out as she passes the door. “I've heard a nasty rumour that you're abandoning us tonight?”

Leah leans on the doorframe. “All true, I'm afraid. Tempting as it is to watch you lot get drunk and flirt badly, I have a prior engagement.”

“Ooooh! Sounds fancy!”

“Am I using too many long words? Girls’ night in with some friends, doing our Christmas presents.”

“Here?” Fish sound like he might abandon their night out to join in.

Leah laughs. “No. Over at Emily’s place so she doesn't have to get a babysitter.” She pushes herself upright. “Well, you lot have fun. Embarrass yourselves but not the team, please.”

 

One thing about going out with the guys is that, since it’s not raining, they don’t need to figure out taxis to get down to town. If you’ve got girls with you there’s always at least one who’s got shoes she can’t actually walk in, but since it’s only the lads they just have a couple of beers while they’re waiting for William to finish getting ready and then stroll down to the _Rose and Thorns_ in a straggling group.

They don’t really have a _plan_ for the evening, as such. A couple of beers in the _Rose,_  a couple more beers and some shots in one of the bars on the high street, and then on to _Vortex_ for the rest of the night.

Maybe a kebab on the way home.

Vince is reasonably confident that he won’t be staggering home with the lads. He never struggles to pick up in _Vortex_. Before then, though, there’s plenty of time for some team bonding.

 

By the time they leave the _Rose_ and find themselves a bar, Petr’s decided that he’s going to help Ifan get lucky. Mark and Jan have girlfriends, Jamie’s a lost cause, and Vince and Ethan don’t need an assist, so Petr’s helping Ifan - whether Ifan likes it or not.

“So.” Petr’s got his arm around Ifan’s shoulders. “Who’s the girl for Ifan?”

Subtle’s not really Petr’s thing.

“You really don’t need to do this.” Ifan protests. “Really.”

“It’s okay!” Petr misses the point, probably on purpose. “I am here to help you. I will be your wingman.” He gets that smile on his face that means he’s about to make what he considers to be a hilarious joke, and he glances around to make sure that they’re all listening so that nobody misses out. “Because normally you are my winger, so tonight I should be on your wing instead!”

Most of the guys who played with him last year laugh, Vince included. You have to, or he’ll just keep repeating it.

“Shots!” Ifan ducks away from Petr, well aware that the guys will back him up in his escape plan if he’s getting a round in. “Who’s in?"

 

A group of guys in business wear head for the door and Mark makes the kind of dive any footballer would be proud of to secure their table before anybody else can get to it.

 

There’s a group of girls over by the bar who’ve been watching them ever since they came in, whispering amongst themselves and giggling whenever one of the guys glances in their direction.

Vince is entertaining himself by discussing the odds with Fish and Tucker on which one is going to be brave enough to lead the approach.

“The blonde one.” At least three of the girls are blonde, but it's pretty obvious that Tucks is referring to the girl with the least-natural hair of the group.

“I don't know, I reckon the short one with the dark hair. She's looking over more than the others, and they're egging her on.”

“No.” Vince is pretty sure of this. “She's too shy. She wants to come over but one of the others will need to go first.”

If any of the guys were actually interested, of course, they'd make the first move and go over to the girls themselves, but it's still that part of the evening where they're out as a team and not quite ready to split off on their own.

“What about the one in the dress, though? She looks pretty… brave.”

They all snigger, but to be fair she's got the legs for a dress that barely covers her underwear.

It must be having girls around at home that's affecting Vince. Normally he'd be all over a girl with legs like that, but he's got a really clear picture in his mind of the disdain that crosses Jo’s face when there are girls dressed like that in the bar after games. If Leah was here she'd be faking sympathy because the poor girl forgot to put a skirt on.

Not that it matters what Leah or Jo or Felicity would say. One night stands don't get taken back to the Hall.

 

It takes another ten minutes or so - long enough for Jan and Petr to head for the bar to get another round in - before four of the girls peel themselves away from the group and come over. If they'd been betting then Tucks would have won, because it's the blonde who leads the way. The one in the dress is with her, and they're heading right for Fish, Tucks and Vince.

The dark haired girl, the shy one, has been coaxed or possibly forced to come over by her friend, and they're talking to Ethan and Tiny. Vince angles himself so that he can see, because Tiny talking to girls is usually _hilarious_. He's hopeless.

The shy girl has obviously been brought over to talk to Ethan, her friend just talking to Tiny to keep her company, and Vince might have to admit that he's a little bit curious to see how Ethan handles this. He's seen him come home from one night stands, but he's never actually noticed him picking up before.

Vince doesn't know what he's expecting to see, exactly. Some kind of variation on Ethan's usual easy-going ability to make conversation.

He's not expecting Ethan to look so uncomfortable. Tiny's supposed to be the awkward one.

“Excuse, excuse!” Jan goes straight through the middle of that group, cutting Ethan off from Tiny and the girls, and puts a tray full of shot glasses down on the table. His English tends to get worse when he doesn't really want to talk to people. He passes two shots to Ethan, then turns and starts handing them to Tiny and the girls. Ethan actually takes the chance to edge away, looking around for an escape and realising that Vince is watching.

He immediately walks over and holds the second shot glass out to Vince. Vince takes it automatically.

“Cheers.”

Vince glances around to check that the other girls are happily absorbed in _The Fisher and Tucks Show_ , and clinks his glass against Ethan's. They knock them back, and the look on Ethan's face accurately reflects how Vince feels.

“Jesus, that's…”

Either Jan has terrible taste in shots or that was some kind of practical joke.

“I need another beer.” Anything to take the taste away. Vince nods towards the bar. “Want one?”

 

They stay up at the bar once they've got their drinks. Vince isn't sure what to say, but something's obviously bothering Ethan and to be honest Vince isn't in a rush to get back to the guys. Not until all of those shots have been drunk.

“Not feeling it?” Vince nods towards where the girl who’d been trying to talk to Ethan has now been drawn into conversation with Petr and Jamie.

“How old do you think she is?”

Vince looks at her again. “Nineteen, maybe?”

“I thought maybe… she looks younger.”

“They’re pretty hot on checking ID around here.” There was that whole business last winter with those sixteen year olds who drank themselves into hospital, when a couple of bars lost their licenses, but Ethan wouldn’t have been around for that. “Not your type, then?”

“No!” Ethan snaps it out too fast, and Vince leans back a little.

“Okay.”

There's something behind that, obviously, but it doesn't sound like the kind of thing Vince wants to be unravelling on a night out.

 

 _Vortex_ is dark, noisy and a bit of a dump, but it's not like there's really anywhere else to go around here.

Vince quite likes it, in a weird way. It reminds him of the places he used to get into when he was underage, even if _Vortex_ is just as strict on ID and age limits as everywhere else in town.

He's had some good nights here.

 

Something's off for Vince, tonight, though. He's having a good time, but he's not feeling the need for a rager and for some reason he's just not in the mood to hook up. There's lots of girls here who are fit enough, in the dim lighting, but he just doesn't want to put the effort in. He's quite happy doing the rounds, keeping an eye on his guys.

Ross is going to duck out soon, that’s pretty obvious. He’s nursing the end of a beer and looking uncomfortable. It’s something of an achievement that he’s stayed out this late, though.

Mark and Jamie are on the dance floor. Jamie’s the better dancer - and by “better”, Vince means “marginally less bad” - but Mark’s more confident, more enthusiastic. That might be because he’s got a girlfriend and he’s not trying to impress anybody here tonight. Vince hasn’t known him long enough to be able to tell. Maybe he’s always been like this.

Ifan managed to hold out against Petr’s matchmaking efforts until they ran into the distraction of Katja’s flatmates. Now he’s holding a table with Jan and Ross while Petr’s dancing with a group of girls that doesn’t actually seem to include his sort-of-not-really-girlfriend. As far as Vince has seen, Katja herself isn’t here.

Fish and Tucks have already gone back to the Hall as they’re both facing long drives home tomorrow. Tiny’s up at the bar with two of the mechanics from the garage where he works. Alec’s with them, and knowing that lot they’re probably talking about motorbikes.

William’s got more game than the rest of them put together - for a guy who’s such a dork on a day to day basis, he really knows how to pick a shirt that shows off his biceps. Last time Vince saw him, he was over at a corner table with a girl, and they’d clearly moved past the talking stage.

 

Vince joins Jan and the guys at their table until Ross finally finishes his beer and announces that he’s going home.

“Grandma’s due to rock up in-” Ross checks the time on his phone “nine hours, and she’s always early, so I should get at least some sleep.”

“Fair enough.” Ifan stands up so that he can give him a hug. “Happy Christmas!”

“And to you.” Ross actually hugs him back, which is a Christmas miracle. “Safe drive tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” Ifan’s entire family is descending on Gethin this year.

Ross graces Vince with a suitably macho, we’re-all-sportsmen-here hug, nods to Jan, and disappears into the night.

“What time is it?” Vince pulls his phone out to answer his own questions. It’s just after one. “Anybody know where Ethan went?”

Jan shrugs, but Ifan starts to laugh.

“I ran into one of my customers.” He explains. “She’s getting married on New Year’s Day and her hen party is here tonight.”

It took some getting used to, when Vince first met Ifan, that he’s a _florist_ by day. It’s the Evans family calling, along with hockey.

“And, what? They’ve stolen Ethan?”

“He didn’t look like he minded!”

“You just abandoned him to a hen party?!” Hen parties are _scary_. They have absolutely no shame.

“Ah, he’ll be fine. Better Ethan than me, anyway.”

 

Vince’s initial plan is to locate Ethan and observe from a safe distance, and then go in and get him out if necessary. It's difficult to extract a mate from a hen party without getting hooked in yourself, they always seem to think that L plates and straws shaped like dicks give them the right to do whatever the hell they like.

Vince has had some bad experiences with hen parties.

They're pretty easy to find - the bride to be is wearing a veil strung with flashing lights, and the hens are making enough noise that he can hear them over the background din of _Vortex_ \- and Ethan's right in the middle of it all.

Ethan's dirty dancing with a woman old enough to be his mother. They're not even on the dance floor.

Vince goes in for the rescue.

“I'm going out for a cigarette!” He shouts over the music, once he's close enough. “You coming with?”

“I don't smoke!” Ethan shouts back. “Neither do you!”

The woman he's dancing with pulls him close enough that she can say something into his ear. Ethan laughs, and then she disentangles herself, grabs one of the other girls and sashays off towards the loos.

“Fine!” Ethan turns back to Vince. “Let's go outside!”

 

“I take it you didn't actually need rescuing, then?”

“Nope.” Ethan grins at Vince, though, so he's not angry at him for interrupting.

“Just thought I'd check, in case…” Vince tries not to feel stupid. “Hen parties can be a bit…”

“Over the top?” Ethan shrugs. “I don't mind. They're a good laugh, especially the ones who are old enough not to be self conscious.”

“I bet they think it's Christmas, getting hold of a guy who plays sports for a living.”

“It is Christmas.” Ethan points out. “Are you coming back in? It's freezing out here, and Rebecca was going to buy me a drink.”

“Was she now?” Vince knows he's smirking, and a matching smile spreads over Ethan's face. “Looking for a sugar mama?”

Ethan heads for the door to go back inside. “What if I am?”

“Really?” It's hard to read Ethan sometimes.

Ethan pauses. “You're not going to be a dick about this, are you?”

“What? No!” If Ethan's for real, that's no problem for Vince. If Ethan likes the older ladies, good for him.

“Cool.” Ethan grins again and Vince realised too late that he's walked into a trap. “Come and meet the girls, then!”

 

“So I said, if you'd given me the letter when Mrs Hooper gave it to you, it wouldn't be a problem, would it? And then there were tears, of course, and- oh, can I get a large doner with…” Cass turns her attention to the glass cabinet. “Mixed salad, and some garlic mayo.”

Vince is unexpectedly invested in whether Cass’ son got to go on the school trip to the aquarium, but Cass has her priorities straight.

“And a Diet Coke, please.” She glances at Vince. “I prefer the taste, okay? I know there's no point getting diet with a kebab.”

“Fair enough!” Vince laughs, and then it's his turn to order.

 

They've congregated outside, waiting for everybody to get their food, and they eat as they amble slowly towards the taxi stand.

“No, babe, of course he's not ignoring you.” Rebecca pats the bride on the shoulder. “I told Michael to take his phone off him so we didn't have weepy declarations when you both got drunk.” She looks around for support. “Vince, you're a guy. Come and tell Mandy that Kev’s not ignoring her texts.”

Vince doesn't know the groom to be, and he’s only just met Mandy, but he does know that logic’s not helpful for managing drunk weepy girls.

“Course he's not.” He tells them, confidently. “If he's out on his stag he's probably just forgotten his pin code for his phone.”

“You reckon?”

“Yeah.” Tiny does that all the time.

“Everybody okay?” Ethan reappears from wherever he'd been - looking for a bin for his kebab paper, probably - and puts his arm around Rebecca.

She's not actually old enough to be his mother, now that Vince is paying attention, but she's got to be late thirties. Still, none of Vince’s business.

 

There's a bit of a wait for taxis. The girls are going in two different directions, so they get the bride’s party in the first cab and then hang around to make sure that the rest of girls get a car safely.

It's not as awkward as Vince would have thought, making conversation with three ladies who are not going to expect him to make a move because they're going home to their partners, while Ethan and Rebecca have disappeared round the corner. One of the girls went to check on them and came back with a grin on her face, so Vince is going to assume that Ethan's scored.

 

“Feels like I've learnt a lot about you tonight.” Vince comments, once they've got the rest of the girls into a taxi and started walking home. “Older ladies…”

“There's a lot to be said for experience.” Ethan stuffs his hands into his pockets. “You really didn't know?”

Vince shakes his head.

“I guess I assumed everybody knew, after…”

It doesn't seem like he's going to finish that sentence.

“After what?”

Ethan doesn't look at him. “I mean, you all know why I left the Saxons.”

“No.” Ethan looks up sharply when Vince answers. “I don't think any of the guys know.”

“Max does, and William.”

“They're not going to tell us private stuff, mate. Not if we don't need to know.”

Ethan seems to shrink, slightly, and Vince is worried. What the hell happened?

“And you don't have to tell us either, if you don't want to.”

“I thought… I thought you'd have heard. About…”

Vince waits him out. He's bursting to know, but this is clearly a big deal for Ethan, so he just keeps walking along next to him.

“I was sleeping with Sharon.”

There's a pause, while Vince tries to think who Sharon could be.

“Sharon Monroe? Jack Monroe’s wife?”

Fuck. A laugh actually escapes Vince before he can clamp down on it. Monroe’s the GM of the Saxons organisation.

Ethan manages a wry smile in agreement. “Yeah…”

“You don't do things by halves, do you?!”

Ethan looks down at the ground as they keep walking.

Vince has a bad feeling. Sure, sleeping with your GM’s wife is a monumentally stupid idea, but it doesn't quite add up to the way Ethan's behaving. There's more to this story.

“I take it Monroe found out?” That fits with Ethan leaving the team, obviously.

“Mmm.” Ethan's silent for a few metres. “Sharon told him.”

“Why would she do that?” Why would she want to ruin Ethan's career? Did they have a fight or something?

“Because…” Ethan sighs, his breath clouding in the cold air. “Because she had to tell the police that I'd been with her every night when he was away on a business trip.”

“The police?”

Ethan comes to a stop by the Esso garage and looks at Vince for the first time in a while.

“Yeah.”

He sits down on the low wall that separates the forecourt from the street. Vince hovers for a moment, then sits next to him.

“You know…” Ethan's searching for his words. “You know how girls get, like, the ones who are still at school. When they get crushes. They get all giggly with their friends and they talk _about_ us but never _to_ us, yeah?”

“Yeah.” That's good, though. Vince doesn't actually _want_ to talk to simpering fourteen year olds.

“And they build us up in their heads but they don't actually know us, apart from like Twitter and that.”

“Yeah.” Vince didn't think Ethan had a Twitter.

“And they tease each other about boys they like, like, _ooh, your boyfriend’s here_ and all that shit.”

Vince has a sudden horrible feeling in his stomach.

“There was this girl. I didn't even know her, couldn't say I'd ever noticed her particularly. She and her friends used to come down to games. Didn't know her name or anything.”

Ethan's hunched forwards, elbows on his knees.

“Chloe James.” He laughs, bitter. He knows her name now, obviously.

“I don’t know what set it off. Drugs problem at the school I think, wasn’t even her, some other kids, and the parents all got warned about it. So her mum started snooping, going through her stuff, and there were all these…” He stares blankly across the empty road. “Like, her notebooks and whatever. My name. Her name. Initials in hearts. All that crap. And she got in from school and her mum goes charging in like _who’s Ethan Roberts_ and her friend who was there with her goes _ooh, that’s Chloe’s boyfriend!_ ”

Vince feels sick.

“The police told me, afterwards. They said that’s what happened and that the girls insisted right away that I wasn’t, but Chloe’s mum found out who I am and how old I am and she just flipped out, wouldn’t believe them when they said I’d never… I’d never…”

His voice catches, and Vince finds himself reaching out, then taking his hand back because he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“I didn’t know her. I’d never even fucking _spoken_ to her, and the police are knocking on my door asking me to come down the station with them.” His breath shudders. “Chloe told them that I’d never had anything to do with her, but I guess if she did have an older boyfriend she might lie to protect him, so they had to investigate… And of course nobody knew where I’d been every night, because I’d been at Sharon’s, and we were keeping that secret, so.” He shrugs. “I guess I looked guilty.”

“Jesus.”

“Sharon told them. She told them right away. And they hadn’t got any evidence, hadn’t got a case. I said I hadn’t done anything, Chloe said I hadn’t done anything. Sharon backed me up.” He finally looks at Vince. “I guess being prepared to blow up her marriage over it was serious enough that the police had no reason to doubt her. But they said…” He looks away again. “They said I should be careful, watch how I was around the younger fans, and-” his voice is rising now, angry. “And it’s like I was on some kind of unofficial watch list, and it felt like people were looking at me, thinking I was a danger to their kids, even though I hadn’t done anything.” He sighs, and the fight goes out of him a bit. “I know that was just in my head. There was no charge, nothing, I couldn’t be on any kind of a list because I hadn’t done anything, not even anything vaguely suspicious. I mean, my watertight alibi for not having sex with an underage girl was that I was having sex with a forty-two year old woman! But it kind of soured things, you know. I didn’t feel safe anywhere.”

He tilts his head to look at Vince. “She wrote me a letter, Chloe’s mum. Told me she was sorry.” He snorts. “Bit late for that.”

“Mate.” Vince says, into the silence that follows. “Fuck.”

“Obviously Monroe wasn’t going to let Jon re-sign me, even if I’d wanted to stay there. The team knew, I guess, about me and Sharon, and they must all think it’s just that. I got caught shagging the GM’s wife and it all blew up. But there must have been rumours. Chloe’s friends might have said stuff, kids that age have no idea about keeping secrets.”

“I hadn’t heard anything. Not even about Sharon.” Vince wants to reassure him. “So nobody’s talking. You know what this league’s like for gossip. None of us have heard anything, so your guys have still got your back.”

Ethan manages a shaky smile. “I guess.”

“And we’ve got your back too. If I ever hear anything, I’ll tell them it’s all bullshit.”

“Thanks.” Ethan shivers, suddenly. “We should keep going, it’s fucking freezing out here.”

Thank fuck for that. Vince jumps to his feet and gestures to the route home with a sweep of his arm. Ethan snorts as he stands up, and they start walking again.

 

Vince nearly breaks the silence several times on the way home, but he doesn’t know what to say. It seems trite to change the subject and start talking shit.

Ethan eventually speaks, just as they’re heading in past the gatehouse. “I think I should tell the guys.”

“You don’t have to.” Vince tells him. “None of their business.”

“No, I should. Just to say, be careful. Some of those girls, they don’t look fourteen. And they’re not trying to trick you, and none of us are thinking of doing… anything we shouldn’t. But. It’s easy to get into something, or for people to think…” Their footsteps crunch on the gravel of the drive. “You know.”

There’s a shiver down Vince’s back that’s got nothing to do with the cold. “I know.” He looks up at the house, where there are lights on in Petr’s and Tiny’s windows. The rest of the guys must already be back. “But it’s up to you, mate. Your call.”

They’re quiet as they head around to the back door - everything’s locked after about ten o’clock and they only have keys to the doors by the gym - and make their way up to the top floor.

“Hey.” Ethan pauses on the landing between their rooms. “Thanks. For listening.”

“Any time, mate.”

Ethan smiles, and disappears into his room.

 

The empty hair gel pot is lying on Vince’s bed, where he threw it before going downstairs at the start of the evening. He picks it up and stares blankly at it for a moment, before dropping it into his bin

Ethan’s not so bad, he guesses.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes an account of off-screen events involving false accusations of having sex with a minor, as told by the person who was accused.  
> No inappropriate activities took place involving any underage characters, and nobody is supportive of such activities.


	21. Mark Barnes

Fish and Lizzie have got some kind of plan for that documentary thing for the website, and it involves taking Hector with them to play the Blizzard.

Max has reminded them at least four times that this is a real game today and they need to take it seriously, but it's hard not to have a laugh when you're trying to get a guy in a giant husky suit onto the bus. He can't see the steps, which is interfering with Lizzie’s artistic vision.

Eventually they get the shots she's after, and they can drive off with Hector's costume piled on one of the spare seats. Apparently it's too hot and too big to wear all the way down to Weybridge.

Mark scrolls through the pictures he took of them filming and picks one to send to Gabbi.

**Filming the next episode of Hike xx**

After a minute, he puts the same photo on the group chat he's got with his brothers.

**Hector the tv star!!**

Liam's the first to text back. **You're so lame.**

 **Thanks bro love you too xox.** Mark only saw them yesterday, leaving straight after breakfast to get home in time for pre-game team lunch. It sort of makes him miss them more. He loves the team, loves having the guys around him all the time, but it was nice to go home for Christmas and be the oldest instead of the rookie for a change. You can play hockey with a different bunch of guys every season, but your brothers are your team for life.

 **I wish my life was as awesome as yours.** Chris didn't have a game yesterday, but he's got one today, so Mum said that he had to go back to Gloucester when she drove Mark back because she wasn't making two trips. Chris is being a fake drama queen about Mark going up to the league above. Mark kind of misses playing against him, but not enough to wish he was back with the Hyenas.

Mum’s promised to bring the boys to one of his games, but the first time that all of the others have a free day when Mark’s playing a game that they can realistically get to isn’t until the 5th of February, when they’re playing the Griffins.

 **I know, sucks to be you!** Mark tells him, smiling at his phone.

 **HAHA BURN!** That’s Jake’s contribution. He was chirping them both hard over Christmas, or at least he was trying to. He’s got used to being the oldest now that Chris has moved out like Mark did, and struggled to go back to being the middle child just for a couple of days.

Liam seemed pleased to have them back, although he was being a bit strange. Something’s bothering him, and Mark needs to get to the bottom of it.

Actually, that reminds him.

Mark stands up and makes his way forwards along the bus, grabbing the seat backs for balance until he gets to Leah.

“Hello. Everything okay?” She pushes her bag onto the floor so he can sit down.

“Yeah! I was just wondering…”

“Yes…”

“Is it okay if my brother comes to stay for a couple of days, while he’s on school holidays?”

“Which one? How old is he?”

“Liam, he’s 14. I’ll look after him.”

“If your mum’s okay with it.” Leah doesn’t seem to be concerned. “Should be fine.”

“Cool.” Mark stands up again, ready to go back to his seat. “Thanks.”

He texts Mum as soon as he sits down. **Do you want to get rid of Liam for a few days? Leah says he can come and stay.**

Mum sends him back a thumbs-up, a picture of a train and a question mark. Sometimes Mark regrets teaching her emojis.

**Yes, we can collect him from the station!**

He sends Liam a private text, off the group chat.

**Want to come and hang out here for a few days before school’s back? I've cleared it with Mum and Leah.**

**K**

There's definitely something wrong with his little brother and Mark's going to figure it out.

 

Lizzie has a whole thing drawn out with a story she wants to film, about Hector meeting the Blizzard’s mascot after that thing that Ifan’s brother did on Twitter. Hector’s supposed to get off the bus, help the guys take their gear into the dressing room, and then Ifan’s going to introduce him to Dai.

They’ve actually left home an hour early to fit this in. Ross isn’t impressed.

Mark doesn’t mind, it’s all a bit of a laugh. And it’s good to mix your routines up a bit sometimes, Mum always says that. If you rely too much on your game-day routine and something happens to throw it off, that can spoil a game for you, but if you mix it up sometimes you can cope when things don’t go quite to plan.

Mum knows what she’s talking about.

 

They’ve decided not to film Hector getting off the bus, because he had enough trouble with the steps when he was going up, and they don’t want him to fall.

They can’t film them taking everything inside yet, because the rink’s still busy for public skate and they’re not supposed to have access yet.

And they can’t really film anything in the car park, because it’s spitting, and it’s already starting to get dark even though it’s not long after three. And they don’t want to get Hector wet if they can help it because he might not be a real dog but he kind of smells like one sometimes.

Dai Evans comes out to meet them, with a couple of guys in Blizzard hoodies.

“ _Prynhawn da!”_  He heads straight for Ifan, of course, even though they spent Christmas together and would have seen each other just yesterday. The Evanses are big huggers. “This is Buzz, he’s our media guy.”

Lizzie goes over to say hi. She’s been talking to Buzz to plan this.

It always makes it sound more professional than it is, talking about the “media team” or whatever. Buzz is clearly just a fan who also knows what he’s doing with a video camera, but it makes it sound like they have a full time crew of people promoting the Blizzard.

Well. Not _just a fan_. Teams in this country don’t operate without the volunteers who give up all their time just because they love the sport. Saying that they’re _just_ fans doesn’t do it justice. Mark gets that. Mum’s given a lot to the juniors for as long as Mark can remember, even when she was still playing herself.

“Hey.” Jamie nudges Mark to get his attention. “We’re sneaking off to Starbucks.” He jerks his head towards where Jan, Vince and Ethan are strolling casually in the direction of the drive-thru at the other side of the car park.

“Uh…” Mark looks back at where Lizzie is pointing enthusiastically at something. Hector’s somehow managing to look long-suffering even in a costume that’s specifically designed to be cheerful.

“William and Scott have already gone ahead.”

That settles it. It’s not sneaking if the captain went.

“Let’s go!”

 

*

 

Liam’s on the 14:17 train on Thursday. The weather’s rubbish, and Mark doesn’t know how much stuff he’ll have brought with him, so he persuades Jamie to drive.

Jamie doesn’t take much persuading.

Liam’s bag is pretty big, but he’s probably got his skates in there as well as enough clothes for a few days, and maybe some homework.

Jamie’s car is full of crap, like always, but there’s room to shove the bag on the back seat and still leave space for Liam.

“What, no hug?” Mark grabs Liam before he can climb into the car.

“Ugh, get off me, you loser!” Liam hugs him back and Mark grins at Jamie over Liam’s shoulder. Jamie looks kind of awkward, but then he doesn’t have siblings near enough to him in age that he grew up with them.

“Liam, this is Jamie. Jamie, Liam.”

“Hey.”

“Hey. Thanks for driving my loser brother down to get me.”

“We can still make you walk!” Mark threatens.

“I’m just saying, you should be able to drive by now.”

“It’s expensive!” It’s an old argument.

“It’s raining.” Jamie points out. “Shall we go?”

 

“So, this is me.” Mark drops Liam’s bag on his bedroom floor. “You can stay in here, or there are some empty rooms on this floor if you want.”

Liam shrugs. “Here’s fine.”

There’s definitely something off if he doesn’t want his own room. Maybe sharing will give Mark a better chance to find out what’s bothering Liam. That’s why he suggested it, anyway.

“Come on, I’ll give you the tour.”

 

It might be that dead week between Christmas and New Year, but it doesn’t feel much different to normal. Most of them still have to work like any other day, and training’s happening like usual.

Liam doesn’t want to come down and watch training, so Mark leaves him with Ester and the wifi codes. Roberto and Leah are both around, but Liam’s perfectly capable of looking after himself for two hours.

When Mark gets back, Liam’s in the kitchen helping Roberto to plate up for dinner.

“Stealing my job?”

“He’s cheaper than you are.” Roberto says, not looking up from the pan he’s stirring. “More respectful.”

That’s nonsense. Roberto demands respect in the kitchen, like any head chef.

“Yes, Chef.” Mark comes further into the room. “What do you need me to do?”

“Nothing. Liam and I have it all under control.”

Mark grins at Liam, and Liam grins back so clearly he’s fine working with Roberto. “I’ll see you in twenty minutes, then.”

 

The whole team are here for dinner tonight. The guys who don’t live in don’t always come back for dinner after training, but Max has asked them all to be here tonight, and the younger guys don’t have college this week so nobody’s parents have protested.

“I’ve got some news.” Max announces, once they’ve all eaten. They all shut up pretty quickly at that, and Max doesn’t have to wait very long to be sure of having everybody’s full attention. “A new signing.”

 

*

 

**_“Hi, you've reached Gabbi, leave a message!”_ **

“Hi babe, just calling to say hi. Hope you're having fun with your family. Uh, I guess we'll talk later? Love you, bye!”

 

*

 

Mark can only imagine how much it must suck to change teams and then immediately have to play your old team back-to-back, but they’ve got the Eagles home and away this weekend and Snapper shows up just before lunch on Friday.

Mark and Liam have only just got up, because they were up way too late last night playing Call of Duty. It makes a change not to have to fight Chris and Jake for a turn. It makes a change not to have to wait until Harry’s not there because Mum says he’s too young for CoD.

They’re in the gym, because Mark needs to work out and Liam’s actually admitted to being impressed by the set up they’ve got here, and the full height windows give a perfect view of the white Audi when it pulls into the yard.

There’s a bit of a pause before the newest Husky gets out of the car.

“Go and get Leah.” Mark hops off the bike and heads for the hallway as Liam does as he’s told and runs upstairs.

“Hi!” Mark pushes the door open.

“Hey.” Snapper comes across as very confident, for a guy who can’t be much older than Jamie.

“You found us okay, then?”

“It wasn’t hard.” He sounds dismissive, when Mark knows for a fact that this place isn’t actually that easy to get to if you didn’t grow up here. It’s the sort of building that’s been here so long that all the locals just assume everybody knows where it is, and the roads aren’t that obvious.

Mum drove them round in circles for nearly ten minutes the day he moved in, and she _never_ gets lost.

 

Leah comes down the stairs, Liam hovering behind her.

“Hi Jordan!”

It takes Mark a second to remember that Snapper has an actual _name._  Like, his parents probably don’t call him Snapper.

“Hi.” Snapper looks slightly taken aback. Mark’s got so used to how capably Leah organises his life that he forgets that she’s not what people expect a team manager to look like.

“Do you want to bring your stuff in right away? Keep the number of trips to a minimum?”

For a moment, Mark actually thinks that Snapper’s going to disagree. Not that he can’t make extra runs down to his car for his things if he wants to, it’s just that Leah’s usually right about stuff like that.

“Sure.”

 

*

 

“I guess it’s just that we, like, people generally, don’t really like change?” Jamie’s sitting cross-legged on the end of Mark’s bed after dinner, tossing a tennis ball from hand to hand.

“I know, but… it wasn’t like this when Devon came.”

“Devon’s different.” Jamie’s focussed on the ball. “Devon doesn’t live here.”

“Devon’s not a threat.” Liam’s lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling. He’s supposed to be writing an essay, but the laptop’s been idle so long it’s hibernating. “The new guy might be.”

Liam can say that, as an outsider to the team. Mark doesn’t want to admit that Snapper might turn out to play better in Mark’s spot than he does himself. Jamie won’t say that he might fit in on the second line and push Jamie back.

“Plus he took the wrong room and you don’t like that either.” Liam props himself up on his elbows. “You think he should be on this floor.”

It’s true that it doesn’t sit right with Mark, that Snapper’s chosen the empty room next to Jan.

“That’s the vets’ floor.” Mark mumbles.

“It does make sense.” Liam continues. “Because if he took one of the empty rooms on this floor he’d be sharing a bathroom.”

“We share a bathroom!” Mark protests.

“Yeah, but, Vince and Ethan and Tiny all share their bathrooms with empty rooms, so it’s like they have their own bathrooms and if Snapper took one of those rooms he’d be forcing them to share. So if he takes the one downstairs he’s not in anybody’s space.”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“I guess if the rooms were allocated, he’d be up here but either Vince or Ethan would be down on that floor…” Jamie thinks it out. “But since they’re not, and he’s come in mid-season…”

“It’s not like he did it to be nice to Vince, Ethan and Tiny, though.” Mark still doesn’t like it. “He just grabbed the best available room.”

Liam sighs and flops back down. “I’m not saying that he’s not a dick. I just mean that you wouldn’t like him whichever room he chose.”

“When did you get so smart?”

“Somebody in the family had to get Dad’s brains.”

Jamie snorts, and Mark snatches the tennis ball and bounces it off Liam’s shoulder.

“Oi!” Liam picks the ball up and throws it back to Jamie. “Is that one of Ester’s?”

“Yeah.” Jamie resumes tossing it from hand to hand. “But it’s dry.”

“Eww.”

 

Jamie’s gone back to his own room, and Liam’s forced another couple of hundred words into his essay before Mark tries to get him to open up.

“I hated English.” Maybe it’s school that’s the problem? “I was so glad when I finished my GCSEs and I could leave all the essay stuff behind me.”

“It’s okay.” Liam logs out of his google docs and shuts down Mark’s laptop. “I don’t mind it normally, I just don’t like writing about poetry.”

“Yeah… What about the rest of it? Going okay?” Liam’s in Year 10 now, maybe he’s not enjoying the GCSE stuff.

“Fine. Did Dad put you up to this?” Liam grins as he looks up from hunting through his bag. “Do you want to see what marks I’ve been getting on my coursework?”

“Can’t I check that my brother’s doing okay? Now I’m not at home to keep an eye on things?”

“You haven’t been at home for years.” Liam points out. “You left home at eighteen, remember? Finished your A Levels and went straight off to play hockey.”

There was a gap of four months between Mark’s last exam and his first game with the Hyenas, but that’s not Liam’s point.

“But school’s fine, thanks for asking. Pretty sure I chose the right subjects and so on.”

Sometimes Mark can barely remember what he picked for his own GCSE options, having to count on his fingers to make up the ten subjects. Maths, double Science, English Literature, English Language, those were the five he had to take. Food Technology as his Tech option, French for his language. Drama for his arts course. Geography, and IT. He’s still disappointed that their school didn’t offer PE as an examined subject. He’d have been good at that.

Liam’s doing Graphic Design, Spanish, Art, History and IT as his options. Mark remembers that even if he forgets his own. Jake’s just started in Year 12, doing the same Sports Science courses that Mark and Chris chose.

Harry’s only just started secondary school and doesn’t need to worry about picking his options for a couple of years.

“And how’s hockey?”

“Fine.” Liam disappears towards the bathroom to get changed for bed. The short answer is enough of a clue that Mark knows where he needs to dig.

He sends Gabi a text while he’s getting changed.

**Night babe. Talk soon? xxx**

The cord for his phone charger has fallen down behind the bedside table again, so when Liam comes back into the room Mark’s hanging off the edge of the bed as he fishes for it.

“What are you doing?”

“Phone charger!”

Liam sighs heavily, crosses the room and crouches down by the plug socket, grabbing the cable from the plug end and pulling it until the other end is between his fingers. “There you go.” He holds it out for Mark. “Honestly, I don’t know how you and Chris are still alive after moving out.”

Mark just grins as he plugs his phone in. “I call Mum a lot.”

“I don’t even know if you’re joking.” Liam scrambles over the mattress to get to his side of the bed.

Mark was hardly going to make him sleep on the floor when Liam chose not to take one of the spare rooms. They’ve all had to share in various combinations on holiday over the years, swapping around every time the fighting got too bad. Harry kicks, Jake snores. Chris has a habit of rolling himself up in the covers. Liam talks in his sleep sometimes, but he’s the least annoying to share with.

Mark turns out the light while Liam’s still trying to get under the duvet, just to hear him squawk, and then he waits.

 

“Mark?”

“Mmm?”

“You still awake?”

“Yeah.” Mark counts slowly to ten. “What is it?”

“Did you…” The mattress dips as Liam shifts his position. “Did you ever not want to play hockey?”

Mark thinks before he answers. “Not really. I mean, I did really want to drive HGVs for a while.”

Liam snorts. He’d have been too young to remember that, probably. Five or six, when Mark was starting secondary school.

“But I always wanted to play. But, I guess, we know that it’s not easy to make a living from it?”

Mark might make it to the Elite League, if his development over next couple of seasons is good enough.

He might not.

Liam’s quiet.

“I mean, I think about it more now.” Mark admits into the dark. “I really like working with Roberto, and Leah says they can sign me up for an NVQ in Professional Cookery. It’s the sort of thing I can probably use while I’m playing for other teams, and I could get a decent job afterwards, you know?”

It goes quiet again, and Mark waits.

“I don’t think I want to play any more.”

“You don’t have to.” Mark tells him, even though he wants to scream _you can’t quit hockey why would you want to quit hockey_. “If it’s not for you.”

“I went in to work with Dad, at half term.”

Mark vaguely remembers that Mum was working at Harry’s hockey camp that week.

“Have they still got that football table in the canteen?” That was always the highlight of Mark’s visits to Dad’s office.

“Uh, yeah, I think so.” Liam pauses, and Mark keeps quiet. “One of the design teams asked me to look at some of their stuff - like, the functional bits? It was skateboard stuff, but accessories? And I’m the right age, so they wanted to know what I liked about it, like, not whether it did what they intended it to do but whether it was good to hold and what it looked like and stuff.”

He’s sounding more animated. Mark shifts onto his side so he’s facing Liam, even though he can’t see him in the dark.

“They asked Dad if I could sit with them for a couple of hours on Monday afternoon and I ended up spending like all week in their part of the office.”

“So, you’re thinking of taking up skateboarding?”

“No!” Liam misses that Mark was teasing. “It was the whole process of how they design something. That was pretty cool.”

“Do you want to work with Dad, then?”

Mark can’t see him shrug, but the way the duvet moves is a giveaway.

“I don’t know. It’s just, I could do something that’s not hockey.”

“Are you… do you not like playing?”

“I do! But, I think, not as much as you do. You and Chris and Jake. I like playing, but it’s… I guess it’s just something I want to do for fun?”

“You can do that.” Mark wants him to know that. Maybe Mark doesn’t get why you’d want to play and not have it be everything, why you’d want to play but not dream of going pro, but most of the kids on his junior teams have long since stopped. “You could play rec.”

“Do you…” Liam’s voice catches, but he’s 14 and that happens a lot at the moment. “Will Mum be mad?”

“Of course not!” Mark’s absolutely certain of that. “Of course she wouldn’t.”

“It’s just… Hockey really matters to her.”

“We matter more.” Mark has to make sure that Liam gets it. “She loves us, and the fact that we share her sport is great, but she wouldn’t ever love one of us any less if we didn’t.”

Liam’s voice is shaky. “I don’t want to tell her.”

“You don’t have to. You don’t even have to make your mind up right now. If you want to play for fun, then play for fun. You’d be on the Under 15s either way, so just… roll with it. You might enjoy it more without the pressure, and then if you need to make a decision later, you’ve got your options open.”

“They want me to join the Under 18s, after my birthday.”

 _They_ is probably the team managers, not Mum and Dad.

“You can always say you want to concentrate on school work. No way anybody’s going to be cross about that.”

“I guess.”

“But I think you should talk to Mum. She can help you make decisions, and I promise she won’t be mad.”

“Sure?”

“Absolutely positive.”

Liam rolls into him suddenly, and Mark wraps his arms around him on reflex. Normally when they hug it’s when one of them’s just got home or is going away, and normally Liam likes to make a big deal about hating it even if he doesn’t. He used to do this, though, when they were kids and he was upset after a fight with Jake.

Chris used to take Jake away to calm down, and Mark used to sit with Liam to cheer him up.

Last time they did this was probably when Mark was about to leave home to play for the Hyenas, and Liam was about to start secondary school, and he’d snuck into Mark’s room in the middle of the night and asked him not to go.

Mark had promised him that he’d always come back, and that Liam would be fine without him, and Mark doesn’t break promises to his little brothers.

 

*

 

**_“Hi, you've reached Gabbi, leave a message!”_ **

“Hi, it’s me! Happy New Year! It’s always so hard to get through at midnight, everybody’s calling everybody… Anyway, we’ve just got home from Cambridge, so, give me a call when you’re off the phone! Love you!”


	22. Hike!

_EPISODE SIX - “PRANKS”_

 

It’s going to take ages to sort out all the footage, and get it together into a format that actually works, but the end product should be worth it. They finished the _Sports_ part of _Online Broadcasting I_ with excellent marks, but they’re all signed up for _Online Broadcasting II_ and Tristan was happy to let them turn _Hike!_ into their full-semester project. Fisher’s got loads of good ideas, but it’s up to Lizzie, Erin, Ryan and Noah to turn them into a documentary that will be fun to watch.

To start with, though, they need to film the setup and results of Jack’s pranks, and then the editing comes later.

 

They’re starting with the new guy. Jordan Sithwell, known to his friends as Snapper.

Well. Known to pretty much everybody as Snapper. Lizzie gets the impression that the guys don’t like him very much.

They’ve posted Jamie as look-out. He’s stretching in the corridor, ready to delay anybody who might try to come in before they’re ready.

Tucker’s doing the work and Fish is doing the talking, sitting side-by side in the locker room. Tucks has got one of Snapper’s skates gripped between his knees, blade up, and Fish is explaining for the camera.

“So, we’re using clear tape, obviously, so it’s invisible unless you know to look for it. The tape isn’t noticeable when you’re walking in your skates, but the moment you step onto the ice-” He mimes slipping with one hand and makes a _whumph_ noise.

Ethan bites off a strip of tape and holds it out for Tucks. Tucks lays it carefully along the blade.

“This is slightly smaller than the blade, so we don’t have bits sticking out at the ends that would make it more obvious.”

Ryan zooms in on the skate, where Tucker is carefully smoothing the tape down.

“You need to be careful, as the blades are sharp. Watch your fingers!”

Tucker grins at Fish. He doesn’t bother to point out that it’s not his first time taping a skate.

“So, one done, and we just need to repeat with the other skate…”

Ethan trades out the skates with Tucker, and gets him another strip of tape.

“And it’s that simple!” Fish grins at the camera. “Now we just put the skate guards back on-”

Tucker fits the actions to the words.

“-and leave everything just where we found it!”

 

The guys don’t seem to mind if Ryan or Noah films in the locker room while they’re getting changed. They trust that Leah’s going to review the shows before they get posted online, and that nobody’s naked arse is going to end up on the internet.

Nobody thinks it’s odd to have them filming while the guys are getting ready for practice. Snapper’s new, but as none of the other guys are reacting he doesn’t take much notice of the cameras either until Noah takes the opportunity to ask him a few questions.

“You’ve played two games with the team now, how are you settling in?”

“Good.” Snapper tugs at his practice jersey to get it more comfortably into place, and sits down in his stall to take off his skate guards. “I’ve only been here since Friday, but it feels like I can do some good things here. I had two assists this weekend, and I’ll be turning that into goals sooner rather than later.”

Noah’s not in shot, so he can raise his eyebrows at Ryan. Most of the guys answer those kind of questions by deflecting back to the team, not talking about themselves. Ryan pulls a face back at him, unnoticed by Snapper as he casually drops his skate guards into his stall and stands up.

“Are we done here?”

“Yeah.” Noah tells him. “We’ve got what we need. We’ll head out and give you guys some room.”

They get what they actually need five minutes later, when Snapper steps onto the ice and promptly wipes out, to the collected laughter of everybody watching.

 

Erin’s got a graphic that will count up the successful pranks, with a little bell every time the number rolls up.

0 to 1 is over the shot of Snapper sitting on the bench, picking the tape off his skates.

 

*

 

Ryan records a voice-over for the second prank, because they don’t have any footage of anybody talking.

It’s not like they need an explanation of what’s going on.

The shot’s of the water bottles lined up on the shelf that’s built into the boards by the players’ bench. It’s got a little rail to stop the bottles from falling when play crashes into the boards.

“Sometimes,” Ryan says, “the old ones are the best.”

There’s somebody sitting on the bench, but the shot stays close on the bottles so that the viewers can’t see who it is. Somebody in a red practice jersey, who reaches into shot and carefully unscrews the lid on each of the bottles so that they’re only just attached.

All of the drinking caps are open, and the guys are just used to grabbing a bottle and squirting the water into their mouths.

Whoever the prankster is, they move away from the bench and out of range of suspicion.

 

Jonny skates over a moment later, gliding to a stop with his hip resting against the boards. He’s watching the rest of the guys on the ice, as they’re running a drill against Ross in the net, and he’s not looking what he’s doing when he reaches over, picks up a bottle and tilts it for a drink.

The lid falls off at the perfect moment, and Jonny splutters as he takes the full contents of the bottle right in his face.

His expression of surprise and outrage, as he looks directly into the camera, is the perfect freeze-frame as 1 rolls up to 2.

 

*

 

The first shot of the next prank is taken out of a top floor bedroom window. Vince and Ethan can be seen crossing the yard, walking away from the house with Ester. The camera pulls back to show Fish, standing by the window.

“Right,” he says, into the camera, “”we’ve got about fifteen minutes. Ethan’s going to warn us when they’re on the way back. Come with me.”

He leads them through the room - Vince’s room, although the viewers won’t necessarily know that - and into the bathroom.

It’s pretty crowded in the bathroom, when Fish joins Jamie and Tucks, so the camera stays in the doorway.

“I don’t think I need to explain what’s happening here?” Fish grins at the camera. Tucker tears a sheet off a roll of clingfilm, and passes it to Fish. Fish picks up Vince’s toothbrush and wraps it tightly in the clingfilm.

The system works smoothly - Tucks sits on the closed toilet, tearing off sheets of clingfilm and passing them alternately to Jamie, perched on the side of the bath, and Fish, leaning against the sink, as they steadily work their way through Vince’s toiletries.

 

The GoPro camera has been carefully positioned on top of the bathroom cabinet, where they can’t get any shots of the toilet but should be able to catch Vince when he discovers what they’ve been up to.

Erin’s getting pretty good at pixelating out things that the viewers shouldn’t see.

 

They don’t have sound, on the footage of Vince going to wash his hands and discovering that he can’t use the soap, or the dawning realisation that every movable item in his bathroom has been clingfilmed. That’s probably lucky, as they also have to edit in some exclamation marks to cover Vince’s mouth in case any of the viewers can lip read.

Noah speeds up the footage, and Erin puts the Benny Hill theme music over the top as Vince drags Ethan in to look at what’s happened, and then unwraps everything while Ethan laughs at him from the doorway.

There’s an extra piece of footage of Jamie sneaking in to retrieve the camera. He grins and gives a thumbs-up to the lens, and that’s where they choose to roll the counter up from 2 to 3.


	23. Jamie

Gabbi’s car is in the yard when Jamie gets back from the afternoon school run. He hadn’t realised that she was coming down today. Mark’s been complaining that she’s always really busy at the moment, not picking up the phone when he calls.

Jamie parks up, pulling in close to Snapper’s Audi because he gets this really funny look on his face like he thinks that Jamie's car is going to infect his with something, and also because Snapper’s parked like a dick again and there won't be room for everybody...

Well. There's plenty of room for everybody, but that doesn't mean Snapper can't learn to park like a civilised person.

 

Jamie glances around the seats out of habit, to make sure that the kids didn't leave anything behind when they piled out of his car at the gatehouse, and heads indoors.

Most people aren't around at this time of day. Tucker and Fish are in the gym, when he passes. Petr's out on the grounds somewhere, helping Marty repair some fencing. Max is in the office, and most of the others are out at their day jobs. Snapper’s probably around somewhere, as his car’s here.

Snapper’s sitting at the foot of the stairs between the bedroom floors, fiddling with his phone.

“I wouldn't go up there if I were you.” He smirks. “It's all getting a bit dramatic.”

Jamie rolls his eyes and pushes past. He's not going to interrupt Mark and Gabbi, he's just going to his room. Maybe get changed and join Fish and Tucks in the gym.

 

“I'm sorry, I really am!”

“Not sorry enough, though! You're still-”

Mark sounds really upset. Upset and angry.

“I'm going to go.”

“I think you should.”

Jamie's frozen in his bedroom doorway as Gabbi comes out of Mark's room. She doesn't see him, rushing towards the stairs. She's crying, and Jamie hopes that Snapper’s moved.

There's a crash from Mark's room, and Jamie goes in.

“What's happened?”

There's a broken mug on the floor, and what's probably coffee all over the wall.

“She's cheating on me.” Mark sounds hollow.

“What?”

“She drove all the way down here to dump me.”

“Shit.”

“I'm going to be sick.” Mark bolts for the bathroom.

Jamie stands awkwardly in the middle of Mark's room for a moment, then grabs the box of tissues from by the bed and starts cleaning up the spilt coffee.

There's a tentative knock on the door, and Leah looks in.

“Is everything okay?”

“No.” Jamie tells her, truthfully. “Gabbi just broke up with Mark.”

Leah just nods, slowly, like that's what she was expecting to hear. “She ran out in a state, Ethan's gone after her to make sure she's okay to drive.”

Jamie crosses to the window. Gabbi’s car is still in the yard. He can't see Gabbi, but the driver's door is open and Ethan's crouched next to the car.

“It's her fault.”

“And we don't want her getting in an accident because she's too upset to drive.” Leah points out. She picks the broken mug up and drops it into the bin, giving the mark on the wall a quick glance but saying nothing about it.

“I'll leave you alone, but yell if you need anything.”

She must pass Mark in the doorway, because there's a brief murmured conversation before he come back in and shuts the door. He looks really pale.

Jamie drops the wad of coffee-soaked tissues into the bin and just stands there.

Mark just stares at him for a long moment, and then his face crumples and he’s fighting not to cry. Jamie doesn't even think, just crosses the space between them in two long strides and pulls him into a hug.

“It's going to be okay.”

 

*

 

“She said…” Mark plucks mindlessly at the duvet cover. “She said she'd met somebody. A guy at uni.”

Jamie's mostly making supportive noises, because he doesn't know what to say. He has zero real life experience that's going to be of any use here.

“And I think she wanted me to think that it was new, that nothing had happened yet, but…”

He sniffs, loudly. It's disgusting.

“But I said, _how long have you been two-timing me?_ and the look on her face… So I said, _does he know about me?_ and she just nodded really slowly, and she looked like she was going to cry, like she was the one who should be upset, and-”

His voice cracks, again, and Jamie puts an arm around him. Mark lists into him, and they just sit side by side on the edge of the bed and say nothing for a bit.

 

*

 

There's a gentle tap at the door, and it opens slowly to reveal Petr standing awkwardly in the hallway.

“Are you okay?”

“No.” Mark sounds as miserable as he looks, and Petr almost flinches.

“Um. Okay. I'm coming back.”

He disappears. Jamie can't contain a little snort.

“I don't think he's very good at emotions.”

“Not other people's emotions.” Mark agrees.

Jamie wishes he was better at this, but he's out of his depth and the quiet is only broken by Mark's shaky breaths until Petr can be heard coming back, talking to somebody.

 _"Musíte to opravit. Je velmi smutný_.”

“Visitor!” He announces, sticking his head around the doorway and then immediately producing Ester. She's getting too big to carry around but that doesn't seem to have stopped him. “Here.” He dumps Ester on Mark’s lap, and Mark catches her on reflex.

Petr meets Jamie's eyes, while Mark’s distracted by Ester’s attempts to wash his face, and his expression quite clearly says that he doesn't know what to do either. The puppy is his solution to everything.

 

*

 

“She's been dodging my calls, not answering my texts, and I just thought, _oh, she's really busy_ and I never thought… I'm so _stupid!”_

“No you're not.” Jamie's firm on that point. “You trusted her. You're supposed to trust people when you're in a relationship.”

Mark draws in another shaky breath, and they watch Ester investigating the room, picking her way over Petr's outstretched legs where he's sitting on the floor.

“She said she still loves me. That's bullshit, though. If she loved me she wouldn't be, wouldn't be fucking-”

He can't finish the sentence.

 

*

 

“Dude.” Fish heads straight for the bed, sitting down on the other side of Mark and pulling him into a hug. “I just heard.”

Mark makes a noise in the back of his throat, like he wants to answer but doesn't have any words.

“Where are we at? Are we at the bitching part yet? Tucks and I have seven sisters between us, when we get to the nail-painting we have got this shit locked down.”

Mark manages a wobbly smile.

“Not there yet.” Tucks decides, looking over at Fish. “Plan B?”

“Plan B.” Fish confirms. “For which we're going to have to swear you to eternal secrecy.”

“Um.” Petr says, from the floor. “Should I go?”

“We can swear you to secrecy too?”

“No.” Petr shakes his head. “Best if…” he frowns, searching for the right words in English. “Plausible deniability?”

“Hey!” Tucks is impressed enough to offer a fistbump.

“I'll go.” Petr gets to his feet. “Ester, staying or coming?”

Ester’s tail thwaps against the carpet.

“Staying.” Petr interprets. “Okay, be good.”

 

“Right.” Fish is now armed with his laptop, and Ethan’s joined them so there are five guys crowded onto Mark’s bed. “This is the gold standard.” He hits _play_ on the youtube video he’s cued up and they watch Ryan Murphy discover that the Carolina Hurricanes have filled his car with packing peanuts.

“This is going to take teamwork to pull this off.” Tucks admits.

“Who are you planning to get with it?” Mark looks around the group.

“Well.” Fish says. “Who’d be most precious about his car?”

Even Mark smiles as they all picture it.

 

*

 

Leah cracks up when she finds them all, her concerned expression melting away as Fish slams the laptop closed. Jamie’s pretty sure he looks just as guilty as the rest of them.

“I won’t ask.” Leah grins, and then spots Ester. “You! Are not supposed to be upstairs!”

Ester buries her nose between her paws.

“Don’t try that look on me.”

“She’s helping.”

“I’m sure she is.” Leah fixes Tucks with a look that says she knows exactly what he’s up to, but Ester chooses that moment to wriggle closer to the guys and rest her head on Mark’s foot.

Leah sighs. “Anyway, I just came up to say that Ifan and Max are handling dinner tonight so you’ve got the night off.”

Mark lunges for his phone and swears when he see the time. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise it was so late!”

“It’s fine, seriously.” Leah heads for the door. “I’ll leave you to whatever it is that I’m not supposed to see you doing.”

Fish’s innocent expression is always a dead giveaway that he’s anything but.

“Come on, Ester. Downstairs.”

 

*

 

“I don’t want any dinner.”

Jamie turns to look at Mark. “Really?” He’s never known Mark off his food, even when he’s ill. “Are you sure?”

Mark shakes his head. He does look kind of pale.

“Is it that you don’t want to eat, or you don’t want to be with everybody?”

Jamie wasn’t the only one who noticed when Mark started struggling to hold it together. Fish, Tucks and Ethan had been really good at cheering him up with the prank planning, but they’d made themselves scarce before Jamie had to suggest that they go.

Mark just shrugs.

“Come down? And we can always take our food somewhere else if you don’t want company?”

“Um.”

“Come on. And if you don’t want to eat you don’t have to.” Jamie doesn’t think that Mark was actually sick, earlier, but if he really doesn’t want to eat it’s probably best not to force him.

“Okay.” Mark doesn’t sound too keen. “Let me just…” He makes a vague gesture that Jamie interprets as _wash my face_ and heads for the bathroom.

Jamie heaves a sigh into the empty room.

 

*

 

“No.” Roberto appears in front of them before Mark and Jamie can get to the kitchen. “Not in there. This way.” He pauses, and looks at their feet. “Shoes.”

He sighs when they stare at him blankly. “Shoes!”

It’s automatic for Mark to do what Roberto tells him. It’s normal for Jamie to go along with him.

 

They need their shoes because they’re going across the yard to Roberto’s apartment.

“I’ve never been in here.” Mark murmurs, when Roberto leaves them to take their shoes off again and sweeps over to the kitchen area.

Jamie doesn’t need to say _me neither_. The apartments where Roberto, Stan and Leah live are unofficially off-limits to the team. If Mark, Roberto’s obvious favourite, hasn’t been here, then there’s no way Jamie would have had an invitation. He’s under no illusions - he’s only here today because Mark is.

“Here.” Roberto offers Jamie a fistful of cutlery, and Jamie follows the unspoken instruction and sets the table. Mark drifts over to the kitchen.

“What are you making?”

“ _Gnocchi alla sorrentina._ ” Roberto opens the oven and slides a dish into the heat. “It's my favourite for a bad day.” He starts explaining the recipe to Mark, slamming the oven door and turning to the fridge for salad ingredients.

Mark's obediently slicing tomatoes when something obviously occurs to him. “So… are Max and Ifan doing dinner by themselves?”

“They can cope.” Roberto sounds calm. “Max helps you on my night off, yes?”

“I guess.” Mark pushes the tomato slices into a pile with his knife.

“Do them good.” Roberto passes him a pepper. “Either it's fine, and I can have more nights off, or it's a disaster and they respect us more. Win-win. Now, tell me, what dressing should be used here?”

 

Jamie drifts away from the kitchen, drawn by the collection of photographs on what seems to be every available surface. He guesses that they must be of Roberto’s family, from the formal black and white wedding portrait fading at the edges, to a colour snap of a pile of children, so new that it's propped up against another picture and doesn't have a frame yet.

“Is this you?” He can't help but blurt, when he finds the most amazing 80s picture he's ever seen.

Roberto squints from the kitchen. “Bring it here. Could be me, could be my brother. Fine to touch, photos are for looking at.”

Jamie carries the frame over.

“Yes, that's me.” Roberto smiles at the picture and Mark sidles in for a look.

“Wow.”

Jamie's not sure if his favourite bit is the sweater or the glasses.

“That's quite some hairstyle.” Mark glances at Roberto, and Roberto grins at him.

“Thank you. Better now, though?”

Roberto keeps his hair short, these days, possibly because it's thinning on top.

“I don't know.” Mark returns his attention to the photograph and Roberto's shoulder length waves. “I reckon you could still pull it off.”

 

Dinner was always going to be good, of course, cooked by a professional chef in his own home, but Jamie reckons this is probably the best meal he's had all year.

Mark's clearly forgotten that he didn't want dinner, because he eats everything that Roberto serves.

 

“Thank you.” Jamie waits until Mark's gone in search of the bathroom. “For dinner, and for…”

He doesn't know how to say it. For distracting Mark, for making sure he ate, for looking out for him.

“He's my trainee.” Roberto’s tone is warmer than the words. He gathers in the empty dessert plates. “My wife left me.”

Jamie pauses in clearing the table, a glass in each hand.

“Years ago.” Roberto clarifies, apparently realising that the way he’d said it made it sound like it had just happened. “But it hurt. Mark’s very young, but he loves hard.” He takes the plates over to the sink, Jamie trailing behind him, and then turns to take the glasses.

“He needs his friends, now. A broken heart will mend, but he needs his friends.”

 

*

 

There’s noise coming from the big sitting room when Jamie and Mark come up the steps from the yard doors and cross the main entrance hall, but Mark’s looking shaky again and Jamie makes a snap decision that they don’t need to hang out with anybody else this evening.

“Do you want to watch something? Chill upstairs with the laptop?”

“Yeah, okay.” Mark sounds relieved rather than enthusiastic, but Jamie was mostly trying to give him an escape.

“Your timing sucks.” Tiny’s talking to Ester as he emerges from the sitting room. “I’ll have lost my seat when we get back, you know that?”

Ester wags her tail, and then patters over to see if Jamie has any treats on him.

Tiny stops when he sees them. “Hi.”

Mark makes an aborted gesture, like he was going to wave rather than talk, and bites his lip. Tiny comes over and wraps him up in a hug. The height difference could be funny, but actually it just looks like a really good hug.

“Let me know if you need a hit putting out.”

Mark laughs softly. “You’ll be the first person I turn to.”

Ester whines, and Tiny lets go of Mark. “Come on then, Princess. Let’s go out.” Ester’s already dancing towards the front door,

Mark pauses with his foot on the first of the stairs up to the bedroom, looking back over his shoulder at Jamie. “What did you want to watch?”

 

*

 

“I think the worst bit,” Mark says out of nowhere ten minutes into an episode of _Game of Thrones_ that they've both seen before. “Is that when I have a crap day, I want to talk to Gabbi. And today's a really crap day, and I can't call her.”

“Have you spoken to your mum?”

Mark shakes his head. “I can't. I mean, I can, I want to, but she'll fuss and then the boys will get worked up and they'll all be calling and texting and…” He sighs. “I just don't want to deal with the drama.” He looks at Jamie. “But she's going to be hurt that I didn't feel I could tell her, isn't she?”

Jamie's got no experience of a family like Mark’s. He's pretty sure that his own mother couldn't say for sure if he's single or not.

“Maybe. I'm sure she'll understand, though.”

Mark picks up his phone and checks the time. “I might call Dad.”

“Okay.” Mr Barnes is the quiet one in that family, or at least the non-hockey one from what Jamie understands. He might be calmer about Mark's news, anyway. “Do you want me to…” Jamie gestures to the door.

“This is your room.” Mark points out. “Don't be daft.”

“I'm just going to the loo, anyway.” Jamie slides off the bed, pausing the laptop. “Back in a minute.”

He hears Mark say _hi Dad_ before the door closes behind him.

 

Jamie takes his time in the bathroom, and when he gets back Mark's crying. Not full on sobbing or anything they can't pretend to ignore, but there are definitely tears.

“Your dad take it okay?”

Mark nods, and Jamie climbs back onto the bed.

“Do you want a hug?”

Mark nods again.

 

*

 

Jamie sits up carefully when the credits end, leaning slowly forwards until he can close the laptop and move it onto the floor, tucking it under the bed so he won’t stand on it when his alarm goes off. Mark mumbles something into Jamie’s spare pillow, and Jamie hopes that the crying won’t make him snore.

He could kick Mark out and make him go back to his own room, it’s only next door, but…

Mark looks relaxed for the first time since Jamie got home this afternoon.

Jamie turns out the light and slides down under the duvet.


	24. Ethan Roberts

League table Sunday 29th January 2017 (5 results awaited)

“Heads up!”

Ethan doesn't have time to identify who shouted, just plants himself more firmly, blocking with his body as somebody in yellow slams into the boards next to him and digs for the puck.

That's Ethan's puck, fucker.

Whichever Piranha is behind him shoves his stick between the boards and Ethan's ankles and tries to get Ethan's puck away. Then there's another body in yellow on the other side, and Jan’s joined the fray.

“Get it out! Get it out!” Frosty yells at them, like they're all holding the puck against the boards for fun, and then he blows the whistle.

Everybody backs off, and Ethan makes sure he's the last one in contact with the puck before he scoops it onto the curve of his stick blade and tosses it gently into the air for Clarkie to catch.

Clarkie nods his thanks and skates off to set up the faceoff. He's not bad, for a zebra.

Jan's poised for the puck to drop, and Ethan positions himself between the faceoff and Jonny's net, half of his attention on the puck and half on what Stuart Pittman’s doing.

Clarkie throws Jason Stanmer out of the faceoff, and Viktor Liepa takes his place. Liepa says something in Slovak that makes Jan crack a smile, and then the puck drops and Jan's stick gets there first.

Scott gets the puck, and then he passes to William and their play charges up the ice. Ethan pushes forwards, but Pittman’s stick is in his way. Before he can make a fuss, Frosty’s arm has gone up, and out of the corner of his eye Ethan sees Jonny rush for the bench.

He's almost got there when Liepa intercepts a pass and the whistle goes.

It's halfway through the second period, and they're still at 0-0. This latest penalty puts them four-on-three for the next thirty eight seconds, until Snapper and Michael Lock finish their coincidental minor penalties.

It's been one of those games.

Pittman argues all the way to the box.

 

It’s a messy, chippy game, and it feels like they’ve spent most of it on either the power play or penalty kill. The lines are all over the place, and Max is increasingly vocal.

Mark’s temper is flaring easily, landing him in the box three times already this game, and putting him in the kind of mood where whatever he’s been saying to the Piranhas has drawn at least two penalties against him.

Petr had a bad game yesterday, his reactions slower than normal until Max was sending Snapper out to centre the second line. He’s got his spot back tonight, for the few occasions when they’ve been able to play five-on-five, but his usual smile is missing and he’s muttering under his breath at the Piranhas.

Ethan’s pretty sure that he’s not doing it to deliberately unsettle them, but two of the Piranhas understand Czech and even the ones that don’t aren’t expecting him to glare at them like he’s been doing. It’s just not Petr’s style.

It makes sense that Mark’s off his game at the moment, but nobody seems to know what’s wrong with Petr. Jan just changed the subject when Ethan tried to ask if he knows what’s going on.

It says a lot about this game that Tiny’s getting a load more minutes than he normally does, because they’re actually playing better when he’s on the ice. None of the Piranhas want to try anything within reach of Noted Goon George Mason, and he’s got pretty long arms.

 

The Huskies got shut out last night, and the Piranhas lost their game, so everybody’s fighting for points and pride.

 

“Guys, we need to pull this together!” Max barely waits for the locker room door to close behind Ross before he starts yelling. “We are better than this! Stop listening to whatever shit they’re spewing out there, and get your heads in the game. We can win this, we should be winning this. They’ve got no coherent offence and there are gaps in their defense that we should be able to drive a bus through, but our own offence seems to still be in bed tonight!”

He glares around the room and nobody meets his eyes. He sighs, and reaches for the playboard.

“Right. Jan’s line, keep the pressure on. Petr, I want you out on the wing. Snapper, you’re on centre for that line. Mark.” Max waits until Mark looks up. “You still have one of the best faceoff percentages in this league. Don’t forget that. Scott or Tucks will be there for the puck-” He points at each of them, waiting for eye contact so he can communicate _you’d damn well better be there_ without words, “-and Jamie’s ready to go. Don’t listen to the Piranhas, don’t _talk_ to the fucking Piranhas.” He raises his voice so he’s addressing the whole room again. “This is a hockey game, not a fucking stitch and bitch. Focus on what your line does best. And Tiny…” He finds Tiny in the group. “Keep it up. That’s good looming. Just get out there and glare at people, they don’t like it and I like that they don’t like it. Right. Defense over here, the rest of you sort yourselves out and start scoring some fucking goals, yeah?”

He produces a marker, apparently from nowhere, and as soon as Ethan, Fish, Tucks, Scott and Tiny have shuffled close enough, he starts diagramming a weakness he’s spotted in the Piranha’s top offensive line.

 

The penalty boxes were actually empty at the end of the second, so they’re five-on-five when Frosty drops the puck for the third.

It doesn’t last, but since the call is against the Piranhas Ethan’s not complaining.

He’s on the first power play unit tonight, and he doesn’t have _time_ to complain even if he’d wanted to.

 

They don’t win the faceoff, but Max keeps the puck in, cycles it over to Ethan. Ethan’s looking for Ifan, aware out of the corner of his eye that there’s a Piranha in William’s way. He taps the puck over to Max, pushes forward and collects the pass as Max sends it straight back, but this time Ifan’s got clear, down to Ethan’s right, and he can send the puck straight to his tape. Ethan falls back to the blue line, where he’s supposed to be. Petr can’t get free, but Max ducks around a yellow jersey and gets himself to just the right spot to deflect Ifan’s pass into the back of the net.

It’s taken forty three minutes for anybody to get a goal.

Ethan gets lost in the group hug. Sometimes it sucks, being those couple of inches shorter.

 

*

 

“That wasn’t the most exciting game to start with.” Ethan admits, when he finds Rebecca in the lobby afterwards. “Normally we try to fit some hockey in between the pushing and shoving.”

“I thought your big blond guy was going to snap and murder somebody.” Rebecca doesn’t look she was bored, anyway.

“Tiny? Yeah, so did the Piranhas.”

Rebecca laughs. Ethan’s so used to hockey that he forgets how ridiculous Tiny’s nickname is the first time you hear it.

“I think you’ve got some converts, anyway.” Rebecca came with a couple of the girls from the hen party, although they didn’t wait around afterwards. “Cass’ kids are already asking to come again.”

“Next home game is Saturday.”

“I’ll suggest it. Might be better, as they won’t have to get up in the morning.”

Ethan rolls his shoulders. They’ve got three games next weekend, starting away to the Tornadoes on Friday. It’s going to be a slog.

“Speaking of which…” Rebecca glances at her watch, and Ethan realises that it must be pretty late. Even with the earlier faceoff for a Sunday match, the game stopped and started so many times that it took forever for the clock to run out.

It doesn’t feel like a long time when Ethan’s out on the ice, but if Rebecca’s got to get up for work in the morning then she’ll want to get home.

“Walk you to your car?”

 

*

 

Ethan’s always been in the habit of putting his phone on silent overnight, so that his friends can’t wake him up with group chats or Twitter notifications.

When his alarm goes off on Monday morning, he’s had so many messages that they won’t fit on his lock screen.

 

**Dude! I just heard! WTF?**

Finchy’s message is a pretty good representation of the messages from his former teammates. Ethan’s heart plummets as he unlocks his phone and starts scrolling.

**Morning! I’m free Wednesday after all if you still want to go to the cinema? X**

He leaves Rebecca’s message unread, to come back to later. Most of the messages are from last year’s Saxons. Pete’s sent him three messages that are just question marks.

Something here has to clue him in to what’s going on.

He flicks through seven more variants on _WTF_ and about the same number of _dude I had no idea_ , plus a whole load of overexcited Finchy before he gets an answer.

 **I’ve left Jack.** He doesn’t have the number saved in his phone, but then he’d deleted Sharon’s details when he left Essex. There’s a second message sent a few minutes later.

**Sorry, you probably don’t want to hear from me. Just wanted to let you know.**

What does she think he’s going to do with this information? And, more to the point, why does absolutely everybody in the organisation now seem to know all about his previous relationship?

And what else do they know?

 

Ethan doesn’t really want to open any of the messages. He stares at his phone for what feels like half an hour, although the clock only ticks up by five minutes, then takes a deep breath and swipes open Finchy’s conversation thread.

**23:30 Dude! I just heard! WTF?**

**23:32 Monroe’s wife has left him, and there’s this rumour that she was cheating on him with you?!!!!**

**23:35 Apparently he’s been cheating on her with a girl from work, and Mrs M found a whole load of emails or something, and she came into the rink at the end of the game last night and they had the most EPIC row**

**_23:38 Missed call_ **

**23:40 Dude you should not be asleep right now I’m trying to call you I need the deets**

**23:45 Mrs M was screaming at him about this chick from work and he started yelling back about her being a hypocrite (haha go spellcheck!) since she’d been screwing around with a player!!!**

**23:49 Anyway a whole bunch of us heard this, so then we’re like, who was she screwing, and then Pete said that you always got on really well with Mrs M…**

**23:52 And then everybody was like, what, Ethan was banging Mrs M? And I was like, well I don’t know, and then Pete text Kipper because you shared a house and Kipper says that you were definitely banging Mrs M**

**23:59 And dude this is not cool I thought we were bros how could you not tell me about you and Mrs M? Dude!!!!**

**_00:02 Missed call_ **

**00:05 Dude IS THAT WHY YOU LEFT???**

 

Seriously, fuck the gossip tree.

 

Ethan gives some consideration to trying to drown himself in the shower, and then goes to see if Vince is around.

 

“Fuck.” Vince sums it up neatly, once they’ve holed up in an empty sitting room with coffee and cereal and Ethan’s explained. “But, at least you know for sure that nobody’s heard anything about the other thing.”

“I do?”

“Seriously, there’s no way that this lot wouldn’t have had collective heart attacks if they’d heard anything about it.” Vince nods at Ethan’s phone, and Ethan realises that he’s got a point. If the Saxons are having a collective fit about him sleeping with Sharon (and really, was Kipper the _only_ one who’d figured it out at the time?) then his phone would probably have caught fire if they’d heard so much as a whisper about the whole Chloe James business.

Vince shovels another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “Are you going to text her back?”

At least, Ethan thinks that what he said. It’s hard to tell past the Special K.

“I don’t know. I mean, I owe her, for telling the truth when I needed her, but…”

“But you don’t want to pick up again, and you don’t want to lead her on.” Thankfully Vince has now finished his mouthful.

“Yeah. I mean, it was good, but it’s… It’s too tied up with all that shit, yeah?”

“And you’ve made a fresh start. New team, new home, new lady?”

Vince wriggles his eyebrows when he says _lady_. Ethan throws a cushion at him and Vince has to protect his breakfast.

“I guess I’ll text her back, thanks for telling me, hope you’re okay, yadda yadda, then cool it off if she keeps trying to talk to me?”

Ethan doesn’t reckon that Sharon will push, actually. She’s not exactly going to turn up on his doorstep with a suitcase.

It’s probably time to have an awkward conversation with at least some of the guys on this team, though.

 

*

 

Ethan likes having a job outside the team - working in the office suits Jamie, Fish and Tucks, but Ethan enjoys spending three days a week with a completely different group of people.

It also means that his work around the Hall is limited to his shifts on kitchen duty. Those hours, plus his training, game and travel hours don’t pay much more than his accommodation fees. By the time he’s paid for his kit and his away-game takeaways there’s not much left, but three days a week as a sports massage therapist pays to run the car, keep his wardrobe up to date, grow his savings and all the other essentials.

His sister claims that he needs two full time jobs just to pay for his hair care. Ethan’s not going to dignify that with an answer.

Ethan works Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays, leaving Mondays to recover from the weekend’s games and Friday to prepare. The guys like to chirp that he’s a part timer, but Ethan doesn’t care. It works for him.

 

It also means that he’s just crossing the main entrance hall on his way down to the gym when the delivery guy rings the doorbell. It doesn’t ring very often, the old fashioned bell pull confuses a lot of people and they tend to go for the knocker instead.

“Hi!” The delivery guy grins at him. “Mr Fisher?”

 

Fish’s ordered four bags of polystyrene beads, the sort you stuff beanbags with. Ethan can’t help smiling as he helps him carry them through to the office, where those of the guys not aware of the prank campaign for _Hike!_ won’t see them and ask awkward questions.

“There’s not enough here to fill a car.” He points out.

“Hey, this stuff cost more than I expected. NHL guys have more money that we do to waste on these things.”

“Won’t it be a bit of a let-down, though?” Ethan pictures the car only knee-high in beads rather than full to the ceiling, and can’t help feeling slightly disappointed.

“Don’t worry.” Fish grins, and Ethan’s glad that he’s on Fish and Tucker’s side and that he doesn’t have to see that grin at his expense. “I’ve got a plan.”

 

*

 

It starts pouring with rain part way through the afternoon, so Petr and Marty have to give up whatever they’re working on outside. Usually, when that happens, Petr will hunt out any of the guys who aren’t working so he’s got somebody to hang out with, but today he just doesn’t appear.

Ethan’s kind of bored, so he goes looking for him. He eventually finds Petr and Ester in the ballroom, alerted by some weird noises that turn out to be the sound of a large puppy chasing a tennis ball indoors. Petr’s sitting on a chair at one side of the room, tossing the ball so that it bounces and Ester can’t predict where it’s going to go. He’s not smiling, even though Ester trips herself up one ball in three.

It’s kind of hard to know where to start. Ethan’s not used to discussing feelings, except for when Mia has boy trouble and decides that as her big brother he’s obliged to help her, but that mostly involves listening and making sympathetic noises, and possibly offering to beat somebody up. He doesn’t have to know how to start those kind of conversations, because he’s known Mia her entire life.

He probably wouldn’t have told Vince about everything if he hadn’t been drunk at the time, he’s not equipped to deal with Petr being sad in the ballroom at half past two on a rainy Monday afternoon.

Petr glanced up briefly when Ethan came in, and then Ester brought him the ball back and he hasn’t looked over since.

Ethan picks a seat on the far side of the room. The main doors to the ballroom are halfway down one of the long sides of the room, opposite the windows. Petr’s sitting against one of the short sides of the room, and the chair Ethan picks is about as far away as it’s possible to sit.

“Petr!”

Petr looks up when he calls, and Ethan holds his hands out for the ball. Petr brightens a little, then throws the ball hard enough that it sails the length of the room and right into Ethan’s palms.

Ester skids the length of the room after it, and just as she’s getting her paws back under her, Ethan tosses the ball back. Ester skitters after it, claws clicking on the laminate boards which protect the original parquet dance floor from the hockey team.

They make it more complicated as they go, bouncing the ball, and soon they’re both out of their seats to have a chance of catching the wilder bounces before Ester gets to them. She’s smart, though, and she’s learning to predict where the ball’s going to go.

The first time she catches it causes confusion, as they’re both calling out to her to bring the ball over. Ester looks between them a couple of time, then trots straight to Petr.

She might be the team’s dog, but she’s got her favourites.

 

“We should make this a team game.” Ethan flops into a chair when Ester has finally had enough and refuses to let them have the ball back. “Like dodgeball, but with a dog.”

“Dogball.” Petr keeps his face straight for a moment, slumping down next to Ethan, and then they both dissolve into laughter.

“Seriously, though. It’s a good workout for us and her. Split into two teams, try to hit the other team with tennis balls, like normal. Ester’s going to confuse things by stealing balls, tripping people up, bringing balls to people who don’t have any.”

“If you get hit and you’re out, if Ester brings you a ball you can come back in.”

“I like that.”

They sit quietly for the moment, watching Ester chew on the ball. Ethan knocks his shoulder against Petr’s.

“You okay?”

“Not really. I finished it, with Katja.”

“What?”

Petr shrugs, failing to make it look casual. “Don’t want to do that anymore?”

“Really? Um, I mean, okay.” That’s a shock. Katja doesn’t come up to the Hall, but Ethan’s met her at games and they always look good together, like things are going well. Petr always looks like he’s into her.

“I mean…” Petr sighs. Ethan’s not sure if he’s looking for the words in English or if he just doesn’t know what to say. “Mark.”

“Mark?”

“Mark… he trusted Gabbi. And she was with another guy. And now he’s so hurt… And I can’t…”

He can’t be the other guy.

“You know…” Ethan picks his words carefully. “It’s Gabbi who hurt Mark. It’s not the other guy. I mean, it is, but the responsibility is with her. You get into a relationship, it’s up to you to stay faithful, right? Maybe you meet somebody else, maybe they want you to cheat on your partner with them, maybe they just want you, but it’s your decision. You can say no. You can break it off with your partner and be with the new person. Or you can cheat.”

God knows he’d never wanted Sharon to leave Monroe for him. If her relationship was in the kind of state where she was prepared to cheat, maybe he took advantage of that, but it’s not his fault that the relationship was in that much of a mess to start with.

“But that was Gabbi’s decision, and it’s been Katja’s decision. If her man back in Norway gets hurt that is _her_ fault and not yours. You didn’t force her to cheat on him, and she can’t say it’s an accident if it’s been, what, over a year?”

Petr nods, looking miserable, and Ethan gets the distinct impression that his pep talk really isn’t helping.

“I mean, you make your choice too, if you know she’s got somebody else. You choose if you want to be with somebody who’s not giving you 100%. And yes, you’re involved in hurting the other person if they find out, but you don’t have the same responsibility to him that she does.”

Petr takes in a breath, as if he’s about to speak, and then stops.

“I’m not helping, am I?” Ethan pulls a face, and Petr looks back at him for a moment before a small smile breaks free.

“Not really.” He pats Ethan’s knee. “But you’re trying. So thank you.” His attention drifts back to Ester. “I don’t think she should eat that.”

Ethan’s only too happy to abandon attempting emotional support in favour of helping to prise the mangled remains of the tennis ball out of Ester’s mouth.

 

*

 

They pick Wednesday afternoon as the best time for their next prank. The students have come over to film the set-up, and they’ve got a couple of hidden cameras tucked into the other cars so that they can get the reaction without getting caught.

Snapper’s on kitchen prep, and Mark’s going to make sure that he stays out of the way for long enough for them to do this.

Tucker and Fish have liberated Snapper’s car keys from his unnervingly-tidy bedroom, and Jamie’s passed the bags of beans out through the office window so they don’t run the risk of getting caught carrying them through the building.

 

“So, what’s this big plan, then?” Ethan puts one of the bags down by Snapper’s car. They’re all on the side of the vehicle furthest from the building, in the misguided hope that if somebody comes out they can all duck and still get away with it.

Fish grins, and produces a penknife. “Watch and learn!”

Tucks opens the back door, and Fish pushes the first bag of beans in so that it’s lying on the far side of the back seat. Then he makes a long slit in the bag.

“I haven’t tested this,” he admits, “but the theory’s good.” He turns the bag very carefully so that the split is hidden against the back of the seat. “Okay, next bag.”

It takes them less than ten minutes to have all four bags in the car, two in the front and two in the back, all with hidden splits.

“So now, when Snapper goes to pull the bags out…”

“He’s going to fill his own car with polystyrene beans!” Tucker finishes Fish’s sentence, and they both grin.

Ethan has to grin back. “That’s genius!”

 

Snapper’s keys have been safely returned to his room, and they’re well away from the yard and filming a tour of the Hall for the website before Mark appears to tell them that dinner prep has finished and Snapper was talking about popping into town for something.

The office windows give a great view of the yard, and of Snapper opening his car. They’re crouched in a row by the windows, peering over the windowsills. It’s a good thing Leah’s not in here right now.

Ryan-the-student has a roof box on his car. It might have been purchased to help him move all his gear up to university, and it might only stay on the car because he doesn’t have anywhere else to put it, but it’s a great place to hide the GoPro to get a high enough angled shot of the interior of Snapper’s car.

They’ve got a mic planted up there, too, but they can’t actually use any of the audio because Snapper swears so much. Ethan actually thinks he’s going to cry at one point.

 

It’s an unqualified success.


	25. Callum Jenkins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PAY ATTENTION TO THIS BIT PLEASE - various of you have mentioned reading this story in class, or on the bus, or out and about in other public locations. DON'T DO THAT WITH THIS CHAPTER. Everybody who has read this chapter has cried. Even me.  
> I mean, you can read it where you like, but consider yourself warned that you are likely to need tissues and a plausible explanation for why you're crying.
> 
>  
> 
> **Warnings in the end notes**

Anita wakes him up just after five.

“Callum. Callum, sweetheart.” Light spills into the room from the hallway, and Anita’s shaking his shoulder. “Callum, I’m so sorry.”

 

The house fills with muted activity. Auntie Sue starts making cups of tea and cleaning the kitchen surfaces, until Anita persuades her to go and get dressed.

When she comes back, in smart trousers and a black shirt, she’s obviously been crying.

The doctor comes. It’s a formality, really, they knew it was going to happen. No need for an ambulance. No need for a coroner.

Grandad’s room is very quiet, now.

Sue makes a lot of telephone calls.

Callum sits at the kitchen table, and everything happens.

 

“You have to call the school.” Sue says, suddenly. “Let them know that you won’t be in. I can’t do everything.”

Callum stares at her blankly.

“Call the school.”

“Sue.” Anita leads her gently away. “It’s half past seven, it’s too early to call the school. We’ll call them later.”

“Callum has to take responsibility for himself.”

Callum shoves his chair back abruptly and goes to his room.

 

Anita knocks on the door a few minutes later.

“Sue’s upset.” Callum’s also upset, but Anita knows that. “And she’s trying to cope by keeping busy. She doesn’t mean anything by it.”

She probably does, actually. Sue says things like that at other times too.

Callum needs to call Leah. Or Max. Or both. He’s got Leah’s contact details open on his phone, and he doesn’t remember doing that.

Anita comes into the room and sits next to him, glancing down at the screen. “Do you want me to make the call to your team?”

_Yes. Please._

 

“Leah’s going to call the school for you.” Anita passes his phone back. “And she’s going to let Max know, and she says not to worry about training at the moment.”

Callum has to worry about training. He has to keep up.

“You should eat something. Come downstairs?”

 

“Callum.” Sue looks into the dining room, where Callum’s alone with an untouched plate of cold toast. “You’ve got a visitor.”

Her tone is disapproving, but then it always is.

Tiny looks huge when he passes Sue in the doorway. He tugs a chair right up next to Callum’s and pulls him into a hug.

It’s the first time Callum cries today.

 

Uncle Geoff turns up just after ten. Sue cries all over him.

Auntie Trish and Uncle Mitch get there at lunch time.

Dad’s on the first flight out of Tokyo and he’ll be landing in London early tomorrow morning.

Callum hasn’t seen him for over a year.

Sue can’t find a reason to ask Tiny to leave.

Callum overhears a very awkward conversation, while Tiny’s in the loo, which involves Trish using the word _boyfriend_ and Sue correcting her with _teammate_.

Maybe on another day that would be funny.

 

Anita’s gone. Without Grandad she’s got no reason to be here.

 

Callum sits on the stairs, out of sight of the kitchen where his aunts and uncles have finished washing the dishes from a dinner he didn’t want to eat.

“Well, we can’t take him. There’s no room, not with the girls.”

“I’ve lived with him for months. I’ve done my share.”

“He’s just a kid, come on.”

“He’s nearly 18. And he’s moody.”

“We can’t just leave him.”

“Technically we can, he’s old enough.”

“Anyway, it’s John’s problem. Callum’s his son, he needs to make the arrangements.”

“And he’s going to ask us to take him in. I’m just saying, we need to be prepared.”

Callum sits on the stairs, out of sight of the kitchen but definitely not out of earshot of his aunts and uncles.

 

It’s a thirty minute walk to the Hall. Callum’s hands are shaking as he unlocks the back door.

Ester comes to greet him, and when he takes her back to the laundry room there’s a dryer running and it’s nice and warm, so Callum just sits on the floor and cuddles the dog. She wriggles and licks his face to start with, but then she settles down and falls asleep.

 

“Callum?” William puts his laundry basket on top of the dryer and crouches down beside him. “You can’t sleep here, kid. Come on.”

Tiny’s still awake.

The bed in Callum’s room is already made up. Tiny did it earlier, _just in case_.

 

Ifan takes him home in the morning, early, on his way to work.

Callum’s ready to pretend that he couldn’t sleep and went to use the gym, but nobody’s noticed he’d gone.

 

*

 

The thing is, Dad’s always travelled for work, ever since Callum was tiny. That’s just how things are. He’s got a really good job that he loves, but he works overseas, six months here, two years there.

The last time that he was actually based in the UK was for the six months after Mum… after Mum…

So Callum lived with Grandad.

Grandad’s always done all the things that everybody else’s Mum and Dad did. Grandad came to parents’ evenings. Grandad drove him to hockey practice, drove him to games, sat in the stands with that huge fleecy blanket that Callum bought him for Father’s Day one year. Grandad made dinner and taught Callum to cook. Grandad took him shopping and never let him dress like an old man just because he lived with one. Grandad supervised homework, read report cards, and brokered the deal where Callum got to keep playing hockey, though it took more and more of his time, if his grades stayed up.

Dad put money in Grandad’s bank account every month. Dad put money in Callum’s bank account every month.

Dad’s at work when Callum’s asleep. Callum’s at school when Dad’s at home in his tiny Tokyo apartment. Dad’s asleep while Callum’s at training.

Dad’s never been to a hockey game.

 

Sue came to stay when Grandad went into hospital, and after a series of whispered late night conversations with her husband and her sister she stayed on when Grandad came home with 24 hour nursing care.

They gave him six weeks, and he kept going for ten months.

Geoff came down most weekends, to be there with Sue.

Trisha brought Mitch and the girls down every few weeks.

Dad was supposed to come home to visit, but... Something came up. Something always came up.

 

*

 

Dad arrives mid-morning, in a sleek black car that’s part of the business class service from the airline. He’s got a small suitcase that also holds his laptop, and a suit bag.

His sisters descend on him before the car has pulled away, but the first thing he says is _where’s Callum?_

Callum’s standing at the foot of the stairs, unsure of himself. Dad sets down his suitcase, laying the suit bag carefully over the top, and looks just as awkward as Callum feels.

“Can I..?”

Callum barely knows this man, constant by his absence. And Dad barely knows Callum, still has a distant sense that his son is a little boy, and now they’re standing in the hallway of Grandad’s house, an expatriate executive in his fifties and a hockey player on the cusp of adulthood.

Callum’s lost his Grandad, and Dad’s lost his father, and a generation ago Grandad did all the things for Dad that he’s done for Callum.

Dad’s asking for a hug, and Callum steps forwards.

 

*

 

The day’s a blur of things that nobody ever wants to do. Sue and Geoff take the paperwork down to the registry office. Trish works her way through Grandad’s address book, figuring out who they should call.

Everybody goes to meet the funeral director, now that Dad’s arrived. Sue tries to suggest that maybe it should just be her, Trish and Dad who go, but Dad insists that Callum should be there.

It’s horrible, talking about what they want to do to mark the fact that Grandad’s _dead_ , but at the same time he’s glad he’s there. Nobody else respects how much Grandad hated ceremony.

Afterwards, while Trish and Sue are discussing the flowers (and of course the florist the funeral director recommends is Ifan), Dad and Callum go for a walk.

“It helps with the jet lag, to get some fresh air.” Dad looks like he’s had enough of Sue and Trish for one day.

Callum’s had enough of Sue and Trish full stop.

“I don’t really know where to go.” Dad admits. “Where did Dad like to go?”

They end up in the main hall at the community centre, because it’s Wednesday afternoon and that means it’s Indoor Bowls.

 

Everybody in this room loved Grandad.

“Hello, Callum, love! We haven’t seen you down here for a while!” Margot’s leading the charge. “What brings you down here?”

She must realise, as soon as she asks. Callum’s here, without Grandad, and with a man who looks so like him that he must be the absent father who would only have flown home if-

“Oh, love. Is Randall…”

Callum nods, and he can feel his face crumple. Margot immediately gathers him up.

Callum never knew Grandma. He doesn't really remember Mum's mother. He barely remembers Mum, sometimes. There’s something faintly reassuring about a hug that smells of lavender.

 

At home, he feels like he’s not supposed to be as upset as he is. Sue and Trish (and Dad) have lost their father, and as Callum is a generation removed he’s supposed in their eyes to be a generation less upset.

Never mind that Grandad’s been the only constant adult that Callum can remember, the only constant _person_.

Here, though, everybody knew Grandad, and Callum used to come along with him sometimes, in school holidays. He came more often, last year, when he got to the sixth form and Wednesday afternoons were always a free period, and when Grandad was starting to get tired more easily. Everybody knew Grandad, and everybody knew how close Callum was to him, and here he’s allowed to be upset.

He’s allowed to be upset at the Hall, where he’s freshly bereaved and still a rookie, although mostly what the guys can give him is a swift return to normality as soon as he’s ready. Nobody’s going to be walking on eggshells around him - they don’t really know how.

This is the first time since the front door closed behind Anita that Callum’s felt like it’s okay to feel like a kid. Grandad’s gone, and with him the last bit of stability. His aunts don’t want him, and to be fair the last thing Callum wants to do is move to Lincolnshire or Northumberland.

He’s not kidding himself that Dad’s going to be here, or that he’s going to suggest that Callum comes out to Tokyo. Not that Callum wants to move there, either.

Everything’s kind of terrifying, right now.

 

“Come on, love.” Margot takes half a step back but doesn’t let go of him completely. “Let’s go and have a cup of tea.”

Callum glances over at Dad, and Dad looks up from where he’s discussing the funeral arrangements with the club secretary, just long enough to nod.

“Does your Dad want a cup as well?”

Callum has absolutely no idea. He nods anyway.

Margot’s tea is much better than Sue’s.

 

Dad takes absolutely no notice of Sue’s protests that the number of people expected at Grandad’s funeral is expanding rapidly now that the Bowls Club have activated the grapevine.

“I’ve just had a gentleman call the house phone and inform me that he’s in the process of confirming numbers, that he’ll get back to me tomorrow but they think the final number should be around thirty. Thirty!”

“These are Dad’s friends, Sue. They should be there.” Dad’s used to people going along with whatever he says, and he doesn’t leave any room for Sue to argue.

There aren’t thirty people in the Bowls Club, so that means Eric has also contacted the people Grandad used to play Bridge with.

“And a chap from the Rotary called, and said that he’d like to say a few words!”

Sue’s livid that her plans are being hijacked.

“Good. It’s right that the people who knew him outside the family should be involved.”

“What next, John? Are Callum’s hockey team going to show up?”

“I don’t know, Susan.” Dad glances at the doorway. He’s perfectly aware that Callum’s there, even if Sue has no idea. “I’m sure if one or two of his friends wanted to come and support him, we’d be glad to see them.”

Callum melts away upstairs to send some text messages.

 

*

 

Callum was planning to sneak out and go to the gym in the morning, but when he gets downstairs in his workout gear Dad’s sitting in the kitchen staring at the teapot.

“Are you going to the gym?”

Callum nods.

“Can I come?”

 

Dad likes to keep fit. There’s a gym in his apartment complex. He’s not as fit as Callum is, though, he’s not a professional athlete - but he’s a pretty good workout buddy.

“Oh, hey!” Jonny obviously wasn’t expecting to see Callum. “How are you doing? I got you a copy of the handouts in Economics, I left them up in your room for you. And there’s a group project coming up so I said we’d work together, hope that’s okay?” He seems to notice Dad for the first time.

“I’m Jonny. You must Callum’s dad?”

They do look a lot alike.

“John.” Dad sets his weights down and offers a hand for Jonny to shake, and they share a smile over having the same name. “You go to college with Callum?”

 

There are a million and one things to do back at the house, but Trish and Sue are doing them all so Callum and Dad find themselves still at the Hall when lunch is ready. Neither of them would accuse the other of avoiding anything.

They’d both brought a change of clothes, anyway, so they didn’t have to stay sweaty on the way home. Dad didn’t react when Callum realised he’d forgotten to bring any socks and ran upstairs to grab some from his room. He’s never quite managed to gather up all of his stuff since the concussion.

He hasn’t tried particularly hard.

 

It’s…It’s Thursday. Callum’s losing track.

Jonny’s already gone, because he’s got Maths and Politics today. Callum’s supposed to have Sociology this afternoon, but he’s not going. He’s had emails from all of his teachers now, making arrangements for class notes and homework until after the funeral.

 

It shouldn’t be a surprise that Dad and Stan hit it off so well. Callum’s used to Stan as part of the team, a man who really knows his hockey, but of course he also knows a lot about international business and they have a whole conversation about Canadian import taxes that goes right over everybody’s heads.

Tiny’s been out at work all morning, but he comes home for lunch, appearing suddenly with a plate of food after everybody else has sat down.

“Are you coming to training tonight?” Tiny squeezes in between Callum and Tucks, even though there isn’t really room. Tucks just shifts his chair over to make space.

Callum pauses.

“It would be good to see you, but only if you feel ready.” Max chips in across the table. “But if you want to play this weekend you need to be at training either tonight or tomorrow.”

Dad’s still talking to Stan, but something in the shift of the conversation attracts their attention.

“Are you back on the ice this weekend, Callum?” It’s never clear whether it’s a coincidence when Stan asks the right questions, or whether he’s deliberately leading a conversation.

Callum’s thinking of how Sue and Trish would react, and that must show on his face because Dad actually laughs. “Might not hurt to go to training, at least? You don’t want to let things slip.”

Callum’s not letting things slip. He missed the gym and training on Tuesday, and the gym again yesterday. But.

It would be nice to feel normal for a couple of hours.

He clears his throat. “Okay.”

 

*

 

Sue says various hurtful things about respect and timing. Dad makes some cutting remarks about work ethic and responsibility before setting up his laptop in the dining room and making a point of dealing with his email backlog.

Callum gets on the bus with the rest of the team on Saturday afternoon and goes to play the Piranhas.

He gets very little ice time. Jamie’s on the second line with Petr and Ifan, and Snapper’s on Mark’s wing with Callum or Devon. Normally Callum hates it when Devon gets his minutes, but he can see why Max has done it. Max even spoke to him about it at training last night, and Callum agrees that he’d rather take less shifts but do them well.

Gethin Evans gives him a big hug in the handshake line. It’s kind of uncomfortable, he hugs like Ifan does, like he really means it, but goalie kit’s not the best thing to be squished against. It’s also slightly unnerving to be lifted almost off your feet by the opposition netminder. Callum can feel Tiny bristling in the line behind him, but Ifan just calls out something in Welsh that only Gethin can understand and Gethin moves on down the line. He hugs Tiny too, but it’s clear from the grin on his face that he’s just messing with him.

For once, Snapper doesn’t whinge about taking the first shower, doesn’t try to insist that he’s not a rookie, just new to the team, and that he shouldn’t have to put up with cold water.

Callum goes in the middle of the pack, and Devon and Mark get stuck with the end when the hot water’s almost gone.

 

Vince buys Devon a kids’ meal again, and then makes Devon give Callum the toy.

 

*

 

The Cobras are in town on Sunday, minus Patterson who picked up a match ban against the Scorpions last night.

“I’ve had a word.” Gavin Stone’s nervous back-up has come looking for Jonny, and neither of them realise that Callum’s listening. “Everybody knows that Jenkins is off-limits and that Mason might actually kill them if they say anything.”

He’s a mid-season call-up, after Rob Brooker got an offer for injury cover in the Elite league, and Callum can’t remember his name. He must be part of that group chat that Jonny thinks is a secret.

 

The black armband seems more noticeable on the white jersey than it did on yesterday’s red.

The home crowd feels safe.

Dad’s in the box with Stan.

 

It’s not a particularly balanced game. This is the Cobras’ third game this weekend, and they’re tired. The Huskies are fired up for a win, since they know even if nobody’s saying that they have a real chance of catching the Tornadoes in the table tonight.

Without Patterson on the ice, and with the news apparently having got to the Cobras that Tiny is poised for violent retribution over pretty much anything (the story always grows in the retelling), there’s no real resistance as the Huskies get their legs under them.

Vince opens the scoring just four minutes into the first, and Ifan follows it up at the ten minute mark. Tucks gets an absolute beauty just before the buzzer for the first intermission.

 

There’s something wrong with Stone. He’s not moving as well as he usually does. He started this season in a tandem pair with the up-and-coming One To Watch, and now he’s getting every start while…

Callum looks for the guy’s name when they skate out for the second period, trying to see what’s on the back of his jersey.

...while _Number Seventeen_ sits on the bench and looks nauseous.

The Cobras are having a horrible season, but their Goals Against numbers would be a hell of a lot worse if it wasn’t for Stone.

 

Vince scores again in the second.

Fish picks up a tripping penalty, and William scores short-handed, unassisted.

Callum gets the assist on Snapper’s goal, and they go into the third 6-0 up.

 

The Cobras are playing to salvage some of their pride, now, rather than hoping for a win, and the shots that Ross is facing are increasingly erratic. He gets control of the puck on their latest effort, and when the whistle doesn’t go he makes a decision and shoots it up the ice to Jan, who’s deep in the neutral zone. Jan gets the puck on his stick quickly enough to avoid icing and offside calls, and then he’s one-on-one with Stone.

Ross gets the assist, and he actually smiles. On the ice. He actually looks like he’s _enjoying_ himself.

 

Vince completes his hat-trick with forty eight seconds left on the clock.

 

The locker room is as loud as it should be after an 8-0 win, and Callum lets it all wash over him.

“Hey. Hey! Guys!” William’s got his phone out. “Tornadoes have gone to overtime.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well.” Vince puts his arm around Devon’s shoulders. “What that means is that after sixty minutes of regulation play, the score was level, so-”

Devon shoves him off. “Ha ha. What does it mean for the _league?”_

“If they win, they’re one point ahead of us.” William’s looking at the table. “And if they lose, they get one point for the OT loss, so that puts us level on points…” He draws it out for a moment. “And we go ahead on goal difference.”

It means nothing. The season’s not over yet, and it’s not like being ahead of the Tornadoes in the table actually affects anything, but the enthusiasm in the room reflects how much they want to get ahead of their rivals.

“And something else.” Max is doing his own calculations. “Even if we lose every single game for the rest of the season - which I’d rather we didn’t - and the Piranhas and the Cobras win every single game for the rest of the season-”

This time there’s a hushed silence.

“-we’re still going to playoffs. Gentlemen, we are locked in.”

The room erupts.

*

 

The funeral is…

 

Callum carries the coffin, with Dad, and Mitch, and Geoff, and two guys from the funeral place.

 

There’s space for them to slide into the front rows, Mitch to the left with Trish and the girls, Callum and Dad and Geoff to the right with Sue.

Grandad had cousins that Callum never met, and they’re here today.

 

It’s hard.

 

Behind the family, the Bowls Club and the Bridge Club and the Rotary Club pack the crematorium. Right at the back, Stan’s come down, with Leah, and Max, and Tiny.

Mark sent Callum a text message yesterday, when Callum wasn’t at training.

**Max thought it might be a bit much if too many of us turned up, but if you want us there me and Jamie will come #lineys**

Max was probably right.

 

It’s okay to cry, at funerals. Dad’s openly crying, and the uncles have wet eyes. Sue’s in bits. Callum’s got a set of proper handkerchiefs that Grandad gave him years ago, that he never uses, but he put one in the inside pocket of his suit this morning and it was the right thing to do.

 

Frank from the Rotary Club gives a short speech that shows just how well he knew Grandad, and just how many people loved him. He mentions Grandad’s love of fine whiskeys, and the way he’d always got time for people. He was fiercely competitive at both Bridge and Bowls, but never a bad loser.

He was in his late sixties when he essentially became a single parent, bringing up Callum after his own children were grown and gone. Nobody ever thought for a moment that Randall Jenkins wasn’t up to raising another child, and nobody could ever say that Callum was anything other than a credit to his grandfather.

 

It’s alien, to bury his face in Dad’s shoulder, to have Dad put an arm around him and offer comfort, but Dad probably understands better than anybody else in the world, right now.

 

They’ve laid on a buffet at a local hotel, sandwiches, finger food, and a selection of cheeses that would have had Grandad rubbing his hands in glee.

Dad buys Callum a scotch, even though he’s not technically old enough to drink it. Nobody’s checking.

“This one was one of Dad’s favourites.”

They stand in a quiet corner of the bar, and they drink a toast.

Callum’s not sure about the scotch. Maybe it’ll be an acquired taste.

 

*

 

Afterwards, the house is oddly quiet. Trish and Mitch have gone back to their hotel with the girls.

Sue and Geoff have shut themselves away upstairs. Sue’s red around the eyes, and talking about packing tomorrow.

“I haven’t asked you yet, what you want to do.” Dad joins Callum in the living room. He’s brought beer, which is a bit more Callum’s speed than the scotch was. “It felt like it was too soon to ask, before the funeral, but I have to go back to Japan at the end of the week, so we need to talk about it. Have you thought about it, at all?”

Callum has thought about it.

“You mean, where I should live?”

“I’m supposed to be in Tokyo until at least the end of the year, and it looks like it might be extended. Although, I wouldn’t have to take that.”

It had never even occurred to Callum that Dad might come home.

“I don’t want to move.”

Dad doesn’t say anything.

“I can’t change college this close to my A levels.” He doesn’t want to leave the team. He doesn’t want to go and stay with Sue or Trish, and they don’t want him either.

College is the one that’s going to hold weight with Dad, though.

“I appreciate that.” Dad’s giving Callum the space to explain his plan.

“And I thought… I probably can’t stay here?” Callum’s not sure what happens to the house, now, but it’s Grandad’s house, not Callum’s, and he can’t comprehend being here on his own.

He should technically still have adult supervision, until his birthday, but if he left home now the authorities wouldn’t make him go back unless they thought he was in danger.

Tiny’d surprised him with some research. Apparently if they tried to force Callum to stay with Sue, he could run away with a high chance of success.

Honestly, though, he’s not sure he’d cope on his own, here or anywhere else, and turning eighteen won’t be a magical solution for that.

“So, I thought…” Callum takes a deep breath and tries to sound like a rational adult. “A lot of the guys on the team live in? Up at the Hall? And based on the amounts they pay for accommodation,” (based on the amounts that Tiny pays) “I could live in, for what they pay me.”

Callum gets less than Tiny, of course, because he’s a rookie and because he’s under 18, but if he got minimum wage at the under-18 rate for the hours they’re all credited for games, training and travel, he’d cover his room and meals.

“It would mean that I won’t actually get any money from the team, but if you’re still giving me an allowance…”

That’s the key factor, really. If Dad doesn’t like the plan, if he insists that Callum has to live with family, he could cut him off, and Callum would have somewhere to sleep and eat until April, and then-

And then.

Dad nods, slowly. “Have you discussed this with Leah?”

“Sort of.”

Leah took him aside, when he came up for the team pre-game lunch on Sunday, and told him that his room was here if he needed it. She hadn’t actually mentioned paying for it.

“She was… positive.”

“She spoke to me, this afternoon.”

“Oh.” Callum hadn’t noticed that.

“She told me that if you need somewhere local to stay for the rest of the school year, there’s room for you at the Hall.” Dad waits until Callum meets his eyes. “Is that what you want?”

No. What Callum wants is to live here with Grandad, just the two of them, like it always was, but that’s not…

That’s not…

Not anymore.

“Callum, is that what you want? To live with the hockey team?”

Meals with the team. Learning to cook from Roberto. Laundry with Ester. Leah making sure that things happen as they’re supposed to. Max and William and Ifan and Scott looking out for him. Jonny and the homework club. Tiny on the other side of the bedroom wall, and his lineys across the hallway.

“Yeah. Yes, it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> offscreen (expected) death of a minor character who is important to a main character, themes of grief and loss.
> 
> If you choose to skip a chapter you can contact me on [tumblr](http://www.backupthere.tumblr.com) for a summary.


	26. Hector

The episode of _Hike!_ where they took Hector down to Weybridge to meet Snowy was unexpectedly popular, so they've decided to film another one. Snowy’s going to come up, and Hector will show him the rink and around town a bit.

They film it on a Saturday, when the Blizzard have an away game so Snowy has the night off, and Hector's presence isn't required for match-night duties until just after five.

It's only the _Hike!_ students involved with this bit, no Fisher, no Blizzard media people. Lizzie's going to share the footage.

 

*

 

The original plan was for Dan to drive up and meet them at the rink, and then they’d all go down to the station and film a segment where Snowy comes in by train and Hector goes to meet him - but then Dan shows up in a Smart car and Lizzie’s practically vibrating with excitement.

“Can you fit in there with all the stuff on?”

“I can’t _drive_ with it on.” Dan points out. “I can’t see.”

They make him drive out, round the roundabout and back in again, so that Noah can get some shots of the car approaching from enough of a distance that they can’t see who’s in the driving seat. They’ll cut that in with some shots of Hector waiting eagerly outside the rink doors.

Sometimes it’s a shame that Hector doesn’t have a tail - it would be a hazard in crowds, and people would pull it all the time, but right now he’s channelling his inner Ester and her tail would be a blur if a friend was arriving.

Then they go inside so Dan can get changed, and come out again to film Snowy getting out of the car.

It’s more complicated than it sounds. It’s a very small car, and Snowy’s a very big cat.

It doesn’t help that they’re all laughing too much to actually be able to assist him. Once they’ve wedged Snowy into the car, they eventually end up with a lovely sequence where Hector goes down to help and has to physically haul him out of the vehicle.

Luckily neither Hector nor Snowy can talk, so they were going to put some music over that bit anyway and it doesn’t matter that the camera’s picked up a mixture of laughter and expletives.

 

The bit in the rink is easy to film - the ice dancers have it booked on Saturday mornings, and it’s already been established that they’re Hector’s friends.

They do a really good job of keeping their faces straight as they’re introduced to Snowy, as if this sort of thing is totally normal and happens all the time.

 

There’s not actually a huge amount to do around here, so they go down to the canal and film Hector and Snowy taking a walk along the canal path. It’s supposed to rain later, but so far it’s dry enough to go out in costume.

The best part is something that they could never have planned, when a couple of ducks take exception to the giant animals and completely freak out. Hopefully that came out okay on camera, because they won’t get a second take.

 

Pizza Express is quiet in the middle of the afternoon, and the bored staff are happy to let them film Hector and Snowy grabbing a bite to eat. They set them up in a booth, because it’s easier than regular chairs when you have a giant furry backside, and also because of the framing.

He’s not entirely sure what that means, but the film students are all really enthusiastic about it.

Snowy smiles benignly at him across the table. Hector grins back.

They don’t have much choice when their expressions are stitched on.

 

They film the food arriving - the waiter builds his part up as much as he can with offers of parmesan and black pepper - and then finally the camera stops rolling and they get to take the heads off and eat.

The students are at the next table, and nobody can be bothered to move. It’s still easy to talk.

 

Dan’s an IT consultant.

“I got into hockey when some colleagues dragged me to a game, years ago, and just loved it. Then a couple of seasons ago the previous Snowy had some health concerns, and I can skate okay, so…” He shrugs. “There wasn’t a lot of competition for the role.”

“I used to figure skate, like, right through my teens. I was never going to go pro, though, so I kind of let it slide when I was taking my A levels. But I started following hockey because… well, it’s kind of embarrassing. When I was training, the Under 18s hockey team had the ice before us, and I used to see them every week, and I had the most ridiculous crush on one of them…” Isaac, his name was. Star forward. Never made it past juniors. “Aggressively heterosexual, of course.” Shrug, and laugh, because what else can you do.

“That sucks.” Dan finishes cutting his pizza into neat and relatively equal slices. “Both because the hockey guys always seem to have this… fear of not being seen to be straight, especially the younger ones, and also…” It’s his turn to shrug. “What a _waste_ , right? I mean, they’re not always the brightest pennies in the bucket, and then you can’t get them into bed either. Some of them are pretty to look at, but so far they’re all…” He grins before he delivers the pun. “Playing for the wrong team.”

 

It’s weird, how much it feels like a date, given that they’re both dressed as animals and trailed by a film crew.

(Some people are apparently into that kind of thing. _Hike!_ isn’t that sort of show.)

 

*

 

“You’re in a good mood tonight.” Leah passes him Hector’s head once he’s got the bottom of the legs secured to his skates.

“Hector’s always in a good mood.”

“Yes, but _you’re_ in a good mood. Had a nice day?”

“Mmm.” He settles Hector’s head firmly onto his shoulders, to cut off further questions.

 

Dan stuck around, after the filming finished, and he’s staying to watch the game.

“It’s nice, sometimes, to watch a game where you’re not really rooting for anybody. Less stressful.”

“I hope you’ll be rooting for us, tonight?”

“Well...” There’s the shrug again, and that smile that makes his eyes shine behind his glasses. “I do hate the Eagles!”


	27. Leah

Beating the Eagles is always cause for celebration, and the guys are noisy when they get back to the Hall, laughing and joking as they grab their plates for dinner.

“Game winning goal should get first dinner!” Petr’s bound to say that, since he scored the game winner.

The good mood is infectious. “Okay.” Leah raises her voice. “That’s official now, tonight the game winner gets his food first. Who got your assists?”

“Ethan and Snapper.” Petr positions himself at the front as if he’s worried that Leah’s going to change his mind. Vince pushes Ethan forwards.

“And then the guys who got the other goals…” Leah’s scanning the room. If Ross was here then he’d have earned a priority spot as well, but he’s gone straight home.

It’s all ridiculous anyway, there’s plenty of food.

Vince and Jamie are slotting themselves into the line, taking credit for their goals, and Leah frowns. “Where’s Snapper?”

There’s a pause while they all look around (maybe he’s gone to the loo?) and then Jack starts to laugh.

“Shit. Who took his car keys?”

There’s another pause, and then Mark slowly puts his hand up.

“Where did you put them?”

“They’re… On the shelf of Tiny’s stall.”

Jack is fighting a smile as he looks around the guys. “Who was last out? Was he still there?”

“Is he still at the _rink_ _?”_ Leah’s not quite following.

“We’ve been hiding his car keys, because he gets so precious about it, and he gets all worked up that we’re doing something to his baby.”

The guys all laugh. The temper tantrum over the polystyrene beads had been epic. They’re still finding them in the yard, even after Leah made the culprits clean up for Ester’s sake.

“Is he still at the rink?”

“Um.” Jack is starting to get that she doesn’t think this is funny. “He might have found them by now? Or be walking back?”

“It’s pissing it down.” Leah looks around, and everybody starts to look a bit awkward. “Roberto, can you put some of that aside?”

“No problem.” Roberto’s picked up on just how angry she is, even if nobody else has. Leah goes to grab her own car keys.

 

*

 

Snapper usually drives everywhere, and he hasn’t been here long enough to know any shortcuts, so Leah’s reasonably confident that if he has started walking he’ll follow the roads and she’ll spot him on the way down to the rink.

He hasn’t got far.

“Snapper!” He’s on the other side of the road, and he doesn’t look round when she calls. _“Jordie!”_

That gets his attention. There’s no traffic around, and he darts across the street.

He doesn’t say anything when he gets into the car, just drips angrily.

“Do you want to go back for your car now, or pick it up tomorrow?”

Snapper mumbles something. Leah turns the radio off.

“What was that?”

“I don’t know where my keys are.”

“Apparently they’re on the shelf of Tiny’s locker, although I’m pretty sure that Tiny didn’t know that.”

She’s expecting another angry tirade, but instead Snapper just tips his head back and sighs. Leah glances over at him as she slows down for the roundabout outside the rink. He looks exhausted.

 

There’s a rec team training until midnight, so the doors are unlocked and the lights are on. Leah parks up.

“Thank you for coming out.”

“I’m not going until I know you’ve got your keys and they haven’t covered your car in clingfilm or anything.”

Snapper looks a bit sick at the thought of the guys wrapping his car.

“I’m pretty sure they haven’t, but I’m not leaving until I know you’re able to drive home.”

“Okay.” He looks taken aback, and Leah frowns as he leads the way indoors. He shouldn’t be surprised that she’s helping. It’s her job.

 

Snapper’s keys are exactly where Mark said they’d be, tucked away at the back of the shelf in Tiny’s stall.

“I don’t know how Mark managed to get them up there.” Leah comments as Snapper stands on the bench to reach them.

Snapper snorts, and glances down at her. “Got ‘em.” He jumps down, holding the keys up as proof. “Let’s go.”

“Text me from your car so I know you’re all set.” The players tend to park round the back, and it’s still raining, so she draws the line at walking him up there.

“Will do.”

 

Leah’s got the engine running and her seatbelt on when Snapper texts a thumbs-up.

 

“Might be best if you eat in the little room.” Roberto’s got two covered plates under the heat lamp, and he’s blocking her exit from the kitchen.

“Why? What’s up?”

“There’s been a lot of yelling. You and Snapper might enjoy your dinner more if you eat in a different room. There’s an atmosphere.”

Leah’s too tired to sort this out right now. “Is Max there?”

Roberto nods. “And William.”

“Fine. They can handle it.”

There’s a set of footsteps running up from the back door and continuing on upstairs. Roberto looks out into the hallway.

“Snapper.”

“Probably getting changed, he got pretty wet.”

Roberto nods. “You should eat.”

“I’ll give him a couple of minutes.”

 

Snapper obviously got changed in record time, switching his damp clothes for sweats and a hoodie. He’s scrubbed his hair with a towel, and without the ton of gel he normally uses he looks younger. More vulnerable.

Leah makes a quick decision.

“I can’t be doing with the whole team right now. I’m going to take this across the yard, do you want to join me?”

 

The apartments in the stable block are sacrosanct. The guys don’t walk into Leah’s space the way they stroll in and out of each other's rooms - even Jack texts if he needs something and he’s got almost no concept of personal space at all.

Very few of them have been inside her apartment since the day they helped her move in.

 

“Just pop that down…” Leah sweeps a pile of papers aside so that there’s room on the breakfast bar for the tray Roberto loaded up for them. “Do you want to eat here or on the sofa?”

Snapper has a quick look around and realises immediately that this is not a home for formal dining. “Sofa’s fine with me.”

 

Leah waits until Snapper’s had a chance to finish eating before she tries to make conversation.

“So, it’s been, what, seven weeks? How are you settling in?”

Snapper lays his cutlery neatly together, and leans forward to put his plate on the coffee table.

“I hate it.”

That's not the answer Leah was expecting. Nothing so blunt.

“I mean, on the ice, it's fine. Good. I like the systems Max runs, I'm putting up points, I feel like it's clicking, but, off the ice…”

He twists so he's facing her.

“I know the guys don't like me. That happens, people don't like me, whatever, it's fine.” He gives a little shrug, like he knows that he grates on people and would rather deal with the consequences than make an effort. “But it's never been this hard anywhere else. I know you guys have your special circumstances, you're a great team, you really are, but everybody's so close and they don't want to let anybody in. You've got your systems for living together, and I'm following those, I am, and you've got all your in jokes…”

He looks away.

“And I kind of _am_ the joke. Like, the car keys. They've done that eight times now. Tonight's just the first time that I didn't manage to get them back. And they think it's funny, but my car’s really important for work, I can't get there without it.”

Snapper’s still got the same job he had when he played for the Eagles. It's roughly halfway between the two locations, so his commute takes about the same time, just in the opposite direction.

“And that shit with the beanbag beans, it took me hours to clean out the car and of course I didn't get them all in the dark, and the next day I had to meet clients with little white bits clinging to my suit and it's not funny, it's my career, I can't just say _sorry for my lack of professionalism, the lads were just having a laugh_. Not that I can tell the guys that. They just think it's even funnier if I get stressed. I was in the gym the other night and when I got back upstairs there was a bucket of ice balanced on top of my bathroom door. There was a note in it that just said _chill_.”

He's talking faster now, getting into his subject.

“I'm getting really paranoid now, because it's not just the car keys, things keep moving and I'm sure it's not that I forget where I put them. And I don't know who's doing it because all of them are in on it, and whenever that bloody film crew are around I'm just waiting for something to happen…”

He meets her eyes, finally, and he just looks like he's… done.

“I'm sleeping with a chair wedged under my door handle.”

Fuck.

“I'm really sorry, Jordie.” With some of the other guys, this is where she'd put her hand on their arm, or something. “I'm sorry this is happening. I'm sorry I didn't notice. I'm sorry that we haven't made this an environment where you thought you could say something.”

“I'm not…” Snapper sighs, frustrated. “Like at school, they always say to kids, tell a teacher - but if you do then it just gets worse. I keep thinking, they'll get bored.”

“This is your _home_. You should feel safe enough to sleep!”

Snapper just shrugs. “It's… whatever. It's only to the end of the season.”

“You wouldn't stay on?”

He just gives her a look, like, _are you kidding me?_

“I’m not asking Max to release me, because I won’t get another offer at this point in the season.” He explains.

If he went somewhere else now he couldn’t do enough regulation games with that team to qualify for playoffs. William had explained that part of the rules to her when everybody suddenly started talking about deadlines a few weeks back. On top of that, teams are bound to be wary about a guy who gets released from two different teams in the space of one season.

“And if I move out of the house, get a room somewhere locally, then they’ve won. They’ve pushed me out. I wanted to live in to be part of the team, and-”

He cuts himself off, not the kind of guy to give in to the vulnerability of emotions.

“But why would I want to stay?”

 

Leah thinks before she answers.

“If it helps - and it might not, I appreciate that - I don’t think they’re intending any malice. I think that in their eyes it’s still a joke, and they’re just not thinking about what it’s like for you.”

“I tried. I tried to think it was funny. Tape on my skates, get the new guy, yeah, I can see that that’s funny. I’d have laughed at what they did to my car if they did it to somebody else, or maybe even if they did it at the weekend when I had time to clean it properly before work. But… It just never stops.”

“Max has had a word with them about going too far tonight, but I guess he won’t know what you’ve just told me, so this will need to be addressed.”

Snapper tips his head back against the cushions. “They’re going to hate me even more.”

“Is it worth it, if they stop messing with you?”

Snapper’s pale and obviously exhausted. Leah wouldn’t fancy walking back into the Hall tonight.

“So, short term plan. I’ve got a tub of Ben and Jerry’s in the freezer that we don’t have to admit to, and Jo’s apartment is free at the moment if you want to sleep somewhere else tonight.”

 _Somewhere with a lock on the doo_ _r,_ she doesn’t add.

“Won’t she mind?”

“She doesn’t actually keep anything there, I think. It’s not ‘her’ flat, we just call it that because she’s the only one who stays there.”

“I… Yes. I think I would like that, tonight.”

 

Snapper’s got an overnight kit in his car.

He’s also got one in his hockey bag. He’s that certain that he’s going to get locked out, or get up to his room one day to find that all of his underwear has gone or his toothbrush is no longer fit for use.

Leah redirects her fury into the ice cream, and then when Snapper’s locked himself in Jo’s apartment, she stays up way too late googling _managing bullying in the workplace._

 

Before she goes to bed, she emails Lizzie.

 

*

 

On Sunday, the guys get on the bus and head for Wakefield, and Leah shuts herself away in the smaller of the offices to see just how big the problem is.

Lizzie has sent over all of the footage they have of the guys pulling pranks.

It’s painful to watch.

Despite herself, Leah finds herself smiling at the first few, the ones that have already been shown on _Hike!_

Tiny’s confusion when they stitched his duvet to the bed is always going to be funny - but then, they’d made the effort to get an old duvet cover and fitted sheet from a charity shop, so that it didn’t matter if anything tore when he was trying to get into bed.

Something shifts after that though. The pranks are still light-hearted, but time after time it’s Snapper who’s the focus, and his reactions are anger, frustration and then a painful resignation. As it goes on Leah can see that he’s trying not to react, looking around for hidden cameras, and his lack of reaction seems to spur the guys on to try harder.

The scene where he’s pulling the bean bags out of his car isn’t funny at all. The footage is unedited, and the sniggering from the guys watching from the office windows is… mean.

 

 _I hate that we did this._ Lizzie emails. _I watched it all back after I sent it to you, and it’s horrible._

 _It’s not your responsibility._ Leah replies. She’s not passing the blame on from the guys to the students Jack has roped in for the ride. _When you make documentaries, sometimes the lion eats the baby antelope and you’re not supposed to interfere._

She’ll always remember Dad explaining that to her when she was little, after a fit of tears brought on by David Attenborough.

Lizzie emails straight back. _But you shouldn’t leave a baby in a burning building if you could get it out. As filmmakers it’s our responsibility to make that call, and I don’t know where this sits along that line._

 

*

 

Monday starts with a meeting with Max. Jack and Ben are subdued, out in the main office, and Jamie’s not back from the school run yet.

Leah closes the door between the offices, and shows Max the full extent of what’s been going on.

 

“I don’t think they mean it. I think they think it’s funny.”

“It’s not funny.” Max is clearly furious, as much with himself for not noticing as he is with anybody else.

“I completely agree.”

“I yelled at them all on Saturday, but that was about leaving a guy behind. If he’d actually just lost his keys or whatever they should all be looking out for each other, not leaving a teammate to walk home on his own in the rain. That they’d hidden his keys themselves just made it worse, but I had no idea of the extent of the problem.” He drums his fingers on the desk. “What are we going to do about it?”

“I’ve got a couple of ideas.” Leah clicks out of the video window. “Should we bring William in?”

 

William and Max are all for making the guys suffer at training.

“How do you do that fairly, though?” Leah’s trying to think it through. “They’re not all involved to the same level.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Max folds his arms. “They’re a team. If some of the guys think it’s unfair that they have to skate suicides for something that’s not their fault, they settle it in the locker room and the guy who’s at fault thinks twice before he does it again.”

“What about Jordie, though? It’s hardly fair to make him suffer again.”

“But if we go easy on him it makes him stand out and that won’t help.”

“I’ll talk to him.” William suggests. “Best to involve him in that decision, I think.”

 

They settle on a plan of action. Between them, they need to speak to each of the guys individually. They fall into three groups which all need to be handled differently - the guys who are actually responsible, whether they meant it or not, the guys who went along with it or let it slide although they should have known better, and the guys who might feel the same way that Snapper does, hating the teasing but not sure what to do about it.

William’s going to have a meeting with the leadership and the guys who weren’t directly involved but either didn’t notice or didn't speak up, sort out who knew what and make sure that they all wake up to the problem so it doesn’t happen again.

“I’m as much to blame as anybody. I’m the captain, and I live here, I should have noticed.”

He’s not exactly wrong.

Leah’s going to meet one-on-one with everybody else.

They all agree that Max is better handling the on-ice side of things and leaving the people management to Leah.

 

William sends some text messages, sorting out a meeting with Ifan, Scott, Jan, Petr, Vince and Tiny.

They debate for a while whether Max should join them. William thinks it’s better if he doesn’t.

Leah’s going to talk to the guys she knows are involved in planning the pranks. “Jack, Ben, Ethan and Jamie.” She counts them off on her fingers. “And Mark, although I think he’s just kind of got swept up in it more recently. Then I need to check in with the younger ones, so that’s Callum, Devon, Jonny…”

There’s a moment where they all openly count on their fingers.

“Ross!” William says suddenly. “He’s in with my lot.” He pulls his phone out and fires off another text.

They all know that Ross is unlikely to have been involved in the pranks as either a perpetrator or a victim, and that he’s the last person who’d notice weird things going on in the rest of the team, but he needs to be included and _responsible bystander_ is the best fit of the categories they’ve got.

“Hang on.” Max is still working it out on his fingers. “We’ve got eighteen players. One group of William, Ifan, Scott, Jan, Petr, Vince, Ross and Tiny, that’s eight. Leah’s meeting with Jack, Ben, Ethan, Jamie, Mark, Callum, Devon and Jonny. That takes us up to sixteen. Who’s missing?”

“Snapper.”

“Of course! So, that’s seventeen…?”

There’s a pause while they all try to figure it out, and then Leah starts to laugh. “It’s you, Max. You haven’t counted yourself…”

 

Leah sets things in motion right away. She gives herself some time to organise what she’s going to say, and asks Jack to make sure he’s free at 2 o’clock.

Most of the first set of guys are around on a Monday. She’ll have to fit Jamie around the afternoon school run, and Mark around his cooking, but the rest of the first group are available whenever she wants them. She can chat to the younger guys later in the week.

 

Leah’s managed this team for six months without any major incidents. Most of them seem to think of her as a teammate or a sister, a problem solver.

When Dad was still managing the site, it was always Leah who used to handle hungover stag parties who were in danger of losing their deposits, or angry customers who were expecting more than the advertised facilities.

Nobody here has really seen that side of her yet, icy firm and not prepared to let anything escalate. The closest she’s come has been the telephone call to Callum’s aunt, sorting out where he was going to stay after his concussion, and that had been a veneer of politeness over unshakeable statement of facts. Callum was staying at the Hall, and his aunt was going to agree, and faced with Leah’s absolute certainty on those points it had all been resolved very quickly.

This is a lot harder, partly because the guilty parties may not know that they’ve done anything wrong.

 

Jack looks a little nervous when he taps on the door at two minutes to two.

“Come on in, grab a seat.”

“Ben made coffee.” Jack puts two mugs down on the desk, and pulls up a chair.

“Thanks.” Leah takes a second. If Jack can work this out for himself over the course of their meeting - and he’s smart, he should get there - it’s going to go down a lot better than if she just yells at him.

“Where would you say the line sits between a harmless prank and something that’s going to hurt somebody?”

 


	28. Colin Prince

“FIFTY-fifty tickets! Shirt off the player’s back!” Colin tears off two 50/50 tickets and holds them out between his finger and thumb, palm upturned so that the guy in a Davies jersey can drop a two pound coin into his hand.

The guy’s been coming here for years, they don’t need to talk about the transaction any more. He’ll come back in the first intermission and buy a ticket for the shirt raffle.

Some of the fans are more obsessive about their rituals than the players are.

Probably not as bad as Ross, but that’s par for the course for a goalie. Colin’s used to fitting their schedules around Ross’s idiosyncrasies.

At least he doesn’t still take his blocker to bed with him like he used to when he played for the Under 9s.

 

“FIFTY-fifty! Shirt off the back!”

“What’s that for?”

“The fifty-fifty? We split the money we get, half goes to the team, and half goes into the prize. The more tickets we sell, the bigger the prize. Last week it was two hundred and seventeen pounds.”

“Wow.”

Colin will happily explain it over and over again, because it means that there are new fans in the rink. Now that the team has got some decent publicity going on - now that the team is winning some games - the crowd is growing week on week.

It’s a bit late in the season for jerseys - it takes so long for them to arrive that they can’t really take orders any more, because they have to warn the fans that the jersey might not actually get here before the season ends.

Hoodies, though, and scarves, those are selling well. Hats. Pens and keyrings, pucks. Photos of the guys that the kids queue up to get signed after the games. They’re all selling well, the smaller bits and pieces that Colin can order on a Monday and have on the merchandise table really for Shelley to sell on Saturday.

They’ve ordered some t-shirts, red ones and white ones with the team logo on the front, which should be here by next week as they gear-up for playoffs.

_Playoffs._

It’s been a sore point for years, that the Huskies take a deep breath at the start of every season and plummet straight to the bottom of the table, where they bob along for the whole of the season and then vanish entirely when playoffs start. Colin loves this team, he wouldn’t pour hours of his free time into them every week if he didn’t, they’ve been his team since long before Ross could skate, but…

It’s been one hell of an adjustment, this season, and something of a sore point that Colin and his fundraising team have worked for years just to keep this team afloat, and then Stan Harfield just strolls back in with all his money and gets all the credit for turning the team around.

If it wasn’t for Colin, and Shelley, and the rest of the die-hards who turned out when they were needed, there wouldn’t have been a team left to rescue.

Stan gets it. He’s said it to Colin’s face, and he’s introduced him to people as _the guy who helped to keep this team alive_. Max gets it, he knows what Colin’s done for this team and he’s not going to forget.

It’s just irritating, looking at the blogs and the forums, Barry’s bits of puff in the _Post Gazette_ , where Stan Harfield single-handedly saved hockey with no mention of the people who put heart and soul into getting them this far.

 

It’s worth it, though. Worth every early morning and late night driving Ross to skating lessons and hockey clubs, training sessions, games. Worth every time he’s had to step in and man a penalty box or sit in as goal judge for Ross’s junior games because not enough other parents volunteered. Worth every stressful month when he’d sunk his own money into the merchandise to get the stock on the table, every social event he’s turned down because he had to be at the rink, every holiday they didn’t take because Ross’s kit had to be paid for.

The Huskies are going to playoffs. Colin’s son is going to playoffs, and Colin’s going to be right there with them.


	29. William

League table Sunday 5th March 2017 (5 results awaited)

If anybody had asked him at the start of the season, William would have said that qualifying for playoffs would be incredible, and that if they could just get into that top eight they wouldn’t care what their final position was.

Ever since it became clear that they were going to make it, though, even before it became a mathematical certainty, the realisation that they might be able to finish _above_ the Tornadoes in the league has been a driving factor.

It wouldn’t be the Huskies way of doing things to have eased off a little once they’d clinched their playoff spot, but knowing that they had a chance to look down on the Tornadoes, well. That’s been pretty motivating.

They’ve played them five times so far this season, twice at home and three times away, and they’ve lost every single time.

This is the last time they’ll face the Tornadoes in the regular season, tonight. In theory they could lose tonight and still get enough points this season to finish above them, but the Tornadoes have a crucial game in hand, and, well.

They really want to beat them. This is the last chance.

 

*

 

William did laundry after training on Friday. Today is Sunday.

There is no way he’s got through all of his base layers playing one game of hockey.

They’ve got to be here somewhere.

 

He stands by the bed, looking slowly around in the hope that his clean clothes will magically jump out at him from under a pile of something, and then glances at his watch.

He’s got two hours before lunch.

 

Making the bed doesn’t produce what he’s looking for, but it does give him a flat surface to pile other things on to.

The floor between the bed and the door is the clearest part, because that’s his main pathway. He drops his team hoodie onto the bed, and starts a dirty laundry pile with yesterday’s boxers.

Actually, those aren’t yesterday’s. Yesterday’s were blue.

He puts his trainers over by the door, and pulls the bin out into the middle of the room so he can collect old receipts and other bits of rubbish more easily.

The jeans he was wearing on Friday go onto the laundry pile, along with three odd socks.

There’s a tie under the bed that he’s been looking for for ages.

Between the bed and the window there’s a larger collection of things that should be in the bin, and the extra blanket which he kicked off the bed a couple of weeks ago. The windowsill holds two mostly-empty coffee mugs, and there’s another mug and a plate on top of the chest of drawers - and that’s where his phone charger went. He can stop charging his phone in the office now.

(Even Max won’t lend him a charger and actually let him leave the room with it. Even _Callum_ makes excuses why he can’t let William borrow anything.)

He rinses the mugs out in his bathroom, so they’re slightly less embarrassing to take downstairs, and while he’s in there he changes the toilet roll and puts three cardboard tubes into the bin along with an empty shampoo bottle.

He takes yesterday’s boxers and his towel out to the laundry pile, and then abandons everything to go and get a clean towel from the linen room because if he doesn’t do it right this second the next time he thinks about it will be as he steps out of the shower.

 

None of this activity produces the items he was actually looking for.

 

He empties his gear bag from yesterday - those base layers aren’t pleasant after being stuffed in at the end of the game last night - and he drops them onto the pile of laundry along with the towel from his bag and another stray sock that shouldn’t even have been in there. He should have time to run this stuff through the washing machine and get it in the dryer before lunch, and have clean gear for the game like the functioning adult that most of the team are inexplicably under the impression that he is.

The basket he normally uses for laundry (one of his weirder birthday presents from Mum last year) is also missing, so after a moment he empties all of the non-clothing items out of his bag and stuffs his laundry back in.

The mugs and plate go in as well, he can swing by the kitchen on the way down.

 

Leah catches him, of course. She’s got a sixth sense for it, just like his mother.

 

“Smuggling contraband?”

It’s not going to be possible to pretend that he’s doing anything other than getting crockery out of his gear bag.

“Um. Just on my way down to do some laundry…”

“Okay. Is the basket of stuff on top of the dryer yours? It was there all day yesterday.”

“...Maybe.” _That’s_ where it went.

Leah’s doing a really poor job of pretending that she’s not laughing at him. “Lunch is in an hour.”

 

William leads the team. He leads them on the ice, he leads them in the locker room. When there’s a dispute over something here in the Hall, the guys are just as likely to come to him as they are to go to Leah.

His ability to do the job is based entirely on connecting with the guys, managing the emotions and the atmosphere, dealing with their nerves and their tempers and holding their respect.

He’s perfectly capable of leading a hockey team without being the kind of person who rolls his socks up in pairs and puts them all in the same drawer.

 

*

 

The team lunch before a home game is a tradition that he started right back at the beginning of the season. It didn’t take long after they all moved in for it to be obvious how much team bonding was going to happen over meals, so William insisted that everybody had to show up for at least that one meal every week whether they live in or not.

Most of the guys who don’t live in will show up for other meals as well, but this way they’re guaranteed to have the whole family together once a week.

 

He also insists that everybody respects Homework Club. It’s become a fixture of weekend mornings, and most people steer clear of the room that the rookies have adopted as the best place to study, either out of respect for the need for quiet and concentration or fear of being asked questions on subjects they don’t know anything about.

Scott’s kids tend to join in, which Scott’s admitted is a relief - all three of his kids want to play hockey, and if their schoolwork improves because they get to do their homework with the players, that can only be a good thing.

 

Only Devon and Snapper are in there when William checks after taking his clean laundry upstairs, running through Devon’s Spanish homework.

“Everybody’s in the ballroom.” Snapper looks up from the page he’s checking over. “Because of the rain.”

“Okay. You nearly done?”

“Getting there.” Snapper’s attention drifts back to Devon. “There’s something not right in that last paragraph. Can you see what’s gone wrong there?”

 

William pushes open the ballroom doors and slips inside.

There are way too many tennis balls flying around the room, and it’s absolute bedlam. There’s a strip of electrician’s tape on the floor marking the halfway point, and there are two loose teams on opposite sides of the room. Scott’s kids are right in the thick of it.

There had been a big discussion about letting the kids join in. It was obvious that it was inevitably going to get out of hand, nobody was going to be able to be careful enough not to hit them too hard with that many tennis balls going around given the competitive nature of every individual in the room. Scott’s of the opinion that if they’re prepared to play hockey they can take the occasional hit from a tennis ball. Felicity’s prepared to let them carry on if they understand the risks. The kids decided on their own that they were going to wear their hockey pads and helmets.

William’s wondered once or twice if he ought to make the rookies do the same. Dogball gets pretty intense.

Soňa’s keeping up a steady stream of Slovak which is probably inventively rude rather than directly swearing, and her aim is scarily good. Jan’s focussed on avoiding her missiles, but Petr keeps breaking into giggles and she gets him out while William’s watching. Callum’s using Tiny as a human shield, trying to pick people off. Fish and Tucks seem to have more than their fair share of tennis balls.

Ester’s going nuts in the middle of it all.

“Ester!” William shuts the door behind him to keep the chaos inside, and calls her over. “Drop it. Leave it. Give.” He’s rewarded with a damp tennis ball. “Good girl.”

Ducking away from one of Soňa’s shots, he picks a side at random and joins the fray.

 

*

 

The Tornadoes roll off their bus and into the away locker room. They might have more money than anybody else in the league, but they still have to carry their own gear.

The endless tide of branded merchandise doesn’t go quite as far as their kit bags, but they’ve all got matching tracksuits, jackets and hats.

William might hate the Tornadoes organisation as a matter of pride, but objectively they spend their money well. Most of the guys are alright, as individuals, even if he doesn’t really know any of them very well.

The Tornadoes must be okay to play for, because once guys get onto their roster they tend to stay put. Unless you played juniors with them, there’s not usually a lot of shared history.

This year, for example, there are only five guys who weren’t on the roster last year. Two of them played in the Elite league last season, and one of the imports is new to British hockey.

It’s pretty standard for the league that even though there’s only one of their new guys who was in this league last year, both Max and Ethan have played with him. Max even lived with him, years ago, back when they were both on the Scorpions.

That was before William’s time, though.

 

It makes William smile, to see the crowd flooding in when the doors open. He’s spent too many games where the Huskies fans could only be described as a trickle for this to ever get old.

The building’s not full, but it’s getting there, and it seems like every other person who passes is decked out in red and white.

There’s a knot of blue and grey in the away block, of course, but the Huskies’ colours cover the majority of the rink.

The guys always want to win, because they’re as competitive as any other athletes, but it’s an extra incentive to do it for the fans.

 

The fans cheer when they skate out for warm-up, which is another great feeling. William does his first three laps of their end of the rink to get his legs moving, fires a few pucks into the empty net, and then goes to tap on the glass by his number-one fan before he starts his stretches.

Organising the pucks has become Mark’s job, over the course of the season, and once he’s done his own stretches he collects all of their pucks up neatly from around the net so that he can pass them out for the first drill.

Tucker swoops in close on a lap around the net, stealing one of the pucks and taking it over to the side to bounce it off the boards. William can see him grinning, and so he’s expecting it when Tucks waits until Mark’s looking the other way and sends his puck knocking gently into the collection, scattering them back into the net.

When Mark turns around and sees what’s happened, all of the guys are looking the other way.

 

Forsythe has the Tornadoes net tonight, and he’s not the same guy that people were making sieve jokes about back in October. The guy’s a former GB-starter, and now that his defense have settled in, it shows.

Max has had them working on several new plays designed to counteract the way the Tornadoes got past them four weeks ago, and he’s mixed the lines up a little so that sometimes Jamie goes out in William’s usual spot on Jan’s wing. William’s experience is valuable with Jan and Vince, but Jamie can put on a burst of speed that Vince will match, and sometimes that can give them the edge.

William doesn’t think it’s a demotion, if sometimes he’s going over the boards with Mark and Callum. He’s there to lend his experience to Mark’s enthusiasm, he’s there because Max trusts him to cover if Callum’s not quite where he should be, and he’s there because he’s hockey-smart enough to adapt when the kids do something clever that’s not on Max’s playboard.

And if he gets the occasional shift with Max, like in the old days, as they’re rebalancing the lines after a power play or penalty kill, that’s pretty cool too.

It’s not about William’s ego, it’s not about whether or not he gets to play on the top line. It’s about the team and it’s about playing to win.

 

The Tornadoes open the scoring, after ten minutes of end-to-end play, when Anders Toft leaves everybody standing after a faceoff down by Forsythe’s net. Ethan and Scott are racing back, Ifan’s chasing him down, but Toft is clear and one-on-one with Ross and the puck’s in the net before anybody really knows what’s happening.

Toft’s got his arms in the air, the rest of his line are skating over to join the celly, and Petr’s line go out for the faceoff.

 

It feels like really hard work, tonight. Every time anybody gets anywhere near Forsythe, there’s a Tornadoes defenseman in the way, and Forsythe himself is absolutely solid.

They’re shutting down the Tornadoes chances, too, but they can’t ease off even for a second because they just keep coming.

Max switches the lines back for the second period, and William’s back on Jan’s wing. Jamie’s skating with Petr and Ifan, and Snapper’s bolstering Mark’s line.

 

Snapper’s an… interesting kid. Well, not really a kid. Twenty-four, and walking that awkward line between the rookies and the vets. It doesn’t help that the guys his own age include Tucks, Fisher and Ethan, and clearly _that_ didn’t get off to a good start.

William’s still angry with himself for not realising how out-of-hand that was getting.

Snapper seems to be handling it well, though. Leah had some difficult conversations with the ringleaders, William had a meeting with the guys who were less involved, and Max bag skated the whole team to underline the point.

He’d released them in batches, sending the goalies through to the showers with Snapper and Devon, then the guys like Tiny, Callum and Jan who hadn’t really been involved. William had stuck it out with the final group, skating with Fisher, Tucks, Ethan, Jamie and Mark even after Scott and Ifan had been allowed to go. Max knows he’s holding himself responsible for his inaction, and didn’t try to send him through to the locker room before everybody was done.

Mostly, Snapper seems to be acting like it never happened. He’s always been focused on the ice, vocal about the plays and making his opinion heard in the locker room whether they like it or not, and he does know what he’s talking about. It’s just a shame he’s so abrasive. He does seem to be trying, though, and if he can get his off-ice relationships to be even half as successful as the on-ice connections, he’ll do okay.

Off the ice, it would be natural to expect that Snapper’s not going to be happy about dropping back to the third line, but William’s played with him enough now to know that Snapper will understand that that’s where they need him right now, and he’ll go out there and do his job.

 

What they need right now is an equalising goal, and it’s not just Snapper who’s working to get one.

Tiny spent all of the first period on the bench, but Max shakes things up a few minutes into the second by pairing Tiny with Scott and slotting himself in on Petr’s wing. With Petr and Ifan a solid offensive pairing, Max can cover the D with Scott and Tiny can just get in the way and glare at people. He’s not supposed to be fighting tonight, especially as the Tornadoes didn’t even dress O’Brien, but when Tiny’s not fighting or even agitating he’s still a big guy with a big reputation planting himself in the way and disrupting the Tornadoes. They’re not a massively physical team, although they’re quite happy to push people out of the way if they need to. Tiny, however, is the kind of player that they automatically go _round_ rather than _through._

Some coaches like to shorten the bench when the pressure’s on, but Max never really had that luxury in the past and he’s always expected the third line guys to step up when they’re needed. Devon’s only had a couple of shifts, but Max will send Mark, Callum and Snapper out against the Tornadoes’ third line and expect them to do their jobs.

 

Mark says himself that his faceoff percentage wouldn’t be as good if he was regularly up against top line guys, but he’s fast and accurate at the dot and the puck goes back to Ethan just like it does in training. Ethan gathers the puck back away from the attackers, then slides it across to Scott. Scott starts to press forwards, then puts all that momentum into a pass to Mark. Mark carries the puck into the zone, and then as the Tornadoes’ defense closes in on him he drops the puck behind him and Snapper’s there to collect.

The Tornadoes defense are an effective screen, and Forsythe can’t immediately see where the puck’s gone, until Snapper bursts out in front of him, his stickhandling keeping the puck safe from the defense until he’s close enough to lift it over Forsythe’s shoulder.

Forsythe’s ready for that, his shoulder lifting to fill the gap where Snapper’s so obviously planning to put the puck - and Snapper slots it in five-hole.

 

The Huskies’ goal song is one of the best sounds in the world.

 

They’re tied going into the third, and it’s crazy if William stops to think about it, that they’re _evenly matched with the Tornadoes_. It just doesn’t sound plausible.

And yet, here they are, 1-1, and as the clock clicks steadily down they’re all thinking about holding for overtime.

And then Tornado number 7 gets called for holding.

Max waves at Ross to stay where he is  - there’s no point pulling him for a six on four advantage against a team who can find an empty net as quickly as the Tornadoes can. Ross settles straight back in, and William smiles. Ross hates empty nets even more than the rest of them do.

“Jan’s line. Ethan, with me. When we change I want Petr, Ifan, Snapper and you two.” Max points at Tucker and Fish, and heads out over the boards to join the first unit. William follows.

The puck-drop is down by Forsythe. Jan and Andrejs Jansons scramble for the puck, and it takes a few seconds before it drifts free. William gets his shoulder in the way as Collins lunges for it, holding him back just long enough for Jan to twist and get control, sending the puck across to Vince. Vince dances backwards, pulling the puck and two Tornadoes with him, and William gets in as close to the net as he can get away with it. Forsythe doesn’t like it, and neither does Ellison, but whenever they try to get him clear Vince or Jan will press in and when they’re a man down the Tornadoes are forced into reactive play.

Vince shoots, Forsythe gets a pad to it but doesn’t manage to kill the puck. It’s bouncing free, and Ellison’s reaching in to get it, shoulders already twisting to send it flying up the ice and buy the Tornadoes some time, and William doesn’t even think.

The puck hits his stick blade at a weird angle and bounces back towards Forsythe, who’s still got one leg outstretched from the save and can’t quite lift it fast enough…

The puck hits the top of his pad and falls into the net.

William very nearly hugs Ellison in his excitement.

 

They’ve got ninety seconds left to play.

Andrews comes out of the box, and the Tornadoes pull Forsythe.

Max goes out with Petr and Ifan, Tucker and Fish behind them.

“Shut them down. Ninety seconds, guys, and we’ve got this!”

 

The Tornadoes win the faceoff.

Fisher’s in the way when they make a run on Ross, and Tucker’s able to steal the puck and turn it around. Toft steals it back, and he’s called offside.

 

Sixty seconds to play.

 

Petr wins the faceoff, and they set off up the ice. Ellison’s in Ifan’s face the whole way, preventing him from getting a lane and allowing Toft to get the puck back. Toft makes another run on the goal, ducking around Fish and Max, but that slows him down enough that Ross is able to kill the puck.

 

Thirty-five seconds to play.

 

Line change.

 

It’s a dangerous faceoff, so close to Ross. Jan wins it, taps it out to William and he doesn’t waste time, just fires it down the ice.

It misses the net, the whistle goes for icing, and they set up again.

 

Twenty-four seconds to play.

 

The Tornadoes get to the puck first, and there’s a desperate scramble by the net before Scott manages to get it out. The Tornadoes catch up quickly, but at least the puck left the zone and they have to waste a few more precious seconds getting all of their skaters over the blue line to avoid another offside call.

Ten seconds to play, and it goes on. Ross disappears in another goal-mouth scramble, and when the whistle goes they find him lying on the puck to keep it safe.

 

Six seconds to play.

 

The Tornadoes win the faceoff. Ethan’s low to the ice, swinging his stick wide and disrupting their lanes.

The puck goes back to the blue line, back to Andrews, who winds up his shot and-

 

The final buzzer is drowned out by the fans.

 


	30. Snapper

“Um.” Callum hovers just inside the kitchen doorway, looking uncertain.

“You okay?” Jordan takes his attention away from the microwave. “If you’re looking for Tiny, he's out in the yard.” Tiny and Alec were doing something to Alec’s motorbike when Jordan came in. Jordan’s got no idea what exactly they're doing, and it's too cold for him to want to hang around and find out.

“Nah, I'm staying out of that. Tiny always make me do the light.”

Jordan grins. The light in the yard is one of those security floodlights that's on a motion sensor. Making someone run around to keep it on is _exactly_ the kind of perk you should get for having a rookie.

“Actually, I was looking for you.”

“Oh.” That doesn't really happen much. “Okay.”

“Um. I was wondering if I could talk to you about my grandad’s house.”

The popcorn in the microwave bursts its first kernel. Jordan totally doesn't jump.

“Sure.”

 

*

 

It’s been four weeks since the shit hit the fan. Four weeks since Leah came out looking for him in the rain, and Jordan found out that management hadn’t realised just how out of control the other lads and their _bit of a laugh_ had got.

It wasn’t great, that they hadn’t noticed, but it’s a hundred times better than thinking that they knew and just didn’t care.

Jordan’s not an idiot, he knows he’s not an easy guy to like. He’s not going to go around pretending that he’s not good at what he does, just so that people will like him, and if people can’t handle him they can piss off.

Except that they can’t piss off when they all live together.

 

It sounded like a pretty sweet setup, when Max first called him. Jordan had just been released by the Eagles, and whilst hockey didn’t pay the bills at all it did come with a room in a shared house and he was trying to find somewhere else to live before his two weeks notice ran out. And then Max Davies from the Huskies was on the phone, looking for a forward and offering a room in a fucking stately home and all his meals in exchange for a couple of hours of washing up each week.

He wasn’t exactly welcomed with open arms. Max added him to the roster for depth, not because they were desperate, and whilst it’s nice to think that they signed him because they wanted _him_ , not because they had to get somebody, anybody, fast, it would have been nice to walk in as the hero.

The Huskies are tight. Even the guys who don’t live here are part of this crazy close-knit family, and it seemed like they just didn’t have room for Jordan.

Or they didn’t want to make room for him.

They’re a pretty young team. Max and Scott are in their thirties, and so’s Ifan, just, and William and Petr are pushing that way, but apart from the rookies the rest of them are in their twenties. Devon’s only just seventeen. Callum’s nearly eighteen, Jonny’s already eighteen. The point is that there’s a whole bunch of them between twenty-one and twenty-eight, and Jordan should fit right in.

Instead, he found that the kind of routines and in-jokes that normally belong in the locker room run through every aspect of life with the Huskies. In the gym, at breakfast. Walking the bloody dog. Half of them work for the front office. They never sit in the same seats two meals running and yet Jordan always felt like he was in the wrong place.

Nobody really spoke to him, after the first couple of days. If he joined a conversation, that was fine, they’d include him, but nobody ever just turned and started talking to him. After a week or so he gave up trying.

And then…

The tape on his skates was funny and he should have been expecting it. The new guy gets pranked, that’s how it goes. He’d been _pleased_ , in a weird way, that this was their welcome. They got Jonny with a water bottle during the same training session.

But.

Jordan knows that he can be a bit precious about his car, but it matters to him. He needed a decent car for work - it’s an hour’s drive each way to the office. When he meets clients out at the properties, they’re going to see him pull up and he’d never make a sale if he drove a heap of junk like Jamie’s got. He’d never _get_ anywhere with a car like that. And when Nan died, she split her money between her grandchildren, and it was enough for them to do something with. One of his cousins was able to put down a deposit on a house. Jordan put some of the money away, and he bought the Audi.

So he knows that he’s inviting chirping, and it’s not like the guys on the Eagles didn’t hide his keys once for a laugh, but it kept happening here. And then they filled it with those beanbag beans, which Jordan’s sure is fucking _hilarious_ if you’re a full-time NHLer and you don’t have to do anything but drive between training and games and you’ve got the time to pick packing peanuts out of your car. Packing peanuts are a lot easier than the little white beads, too, bigger and easier to pick up. Not so much static cling.

And it’s not like it was a prank war, because it’s not as if he was retaliating. It’s not like Jordan had a friend to laugh about it with, somebody to take some of the heat.

He wasn’t doing _anything_ to the rest of the guys, and yet he was lying in bed at night waiting for the next attack.

 

At first, when Leah pulled up next to him in the rain, he thought she was angry because she’d had to come out and get him, and it took a little while to sink in that she was furious on his behalf. Something was obviously going on when they got back to the Hall, as well, because the dining room door was firmly shut and Leah made what he knew was an unusual invitation to eat at her place instead.

And then she’d asked him how he was settling in, and it all came pouring out.

 

When a kid gets picked on at school, adults always say that you should tell a teacher. Kids know that if you do, it’s likely to just make things worse.

Leah hauled a bunch of the guys in for private meetings. William shut himself in the ballroom with half the team for over an hour.

Max made them all skate suicides. At least that bit they spoke to him about first.

_“I don’t want you to feel that you’re being punished for this, but I know that if you sit it out that might not make things better.”_

Max gets it, at least, that if he’s the only guy who escapes a whole team punishment for something that not everybody was involved in, it’s going to make him even more unpopular.

 _“So include me. That’s okay.”_ It’s worth skating suicides if he knows that certain individuals are suffering with him.

Plus Max balanced it out anyway, letting them go in groups so that the guys who were more responsible got the worst of it.

 

Jordan had hoped that that would be the end of it. The guys still wouldn’t want to talk to him, not if he’s going to go crying to management that they’re being mean to him, like he’s a complete baby, but if the constant messing with him would stop then that’s enough. That would get him through to the end of the season, and he could make another fresh start somewhere else.

Everybody was a bit quiet around him for a couple of days, and then on the Wednesday evening, two nights after the bag skate and on their only training-free evening, Fisher had knocked on Jordan’s door and announced that they were all going down to the _Rose_ for a pint and Jordan should come with.

On the Thursday, he got in from work to find an envelope pushed under his door. Inside the envelope was a voucher for a full valet clean down at the carwash place by the station. Jordan had to sit on the bed for a moment to take it in - it’s not something that would have been expensive, if they got together on it, but it’s actually kind of thoughtful and it really mattered that they hadn’t gone into his room to leave it for him.

After a few more days of people making an awkward effort to be nice to him, Jordan realised that it was probably going to settle down faster if he also made an effort. The second time that there were some of Roberto’s special triple-chocolate cookies at lunch time, and somebody made a point of offering Jordan the last one, he actually managed to say _does anybody want to split it?_

It’s been getting easier. When Devon appeared in the big sitting room one Sunday morning and asked if anybody could help with his Spanish homework, Jordan volunteered as soon as he realised that nobody else was leaping to do it. It’s not that long since he left university, he still knows how to speak it.

It’s a slow process, but he does feel more like he’s part of the team now.

 

*

 

“You know this isn't my specialty, yeah?” Jordan sticks the bowl of popcorn down on the table. He was going to watch a film on his laptop upstairs, but he's fine hanging out down here with Callum for a bit. “I do big commercial stuff, mostly.”

“Yeah.” Callum sits next to him, leaving half a cushion of space between them. “But nobody else has a clue. And Dad’s in Tokyo, and the only other person who would know stuff is Stan…”

“I mean, I'm cool to help.” Jordan reassures. “Just wanted to check that you knew.”

“I know.”

“Okay. So, what's up?”

“Um. So, I've got this house now. And I don't think I want to live in it, because…” Callum waves a hand helplessly.

“I get it.” Because it's full of memories, and if Callum lived there it would be really obvious that his grandad wasn't around any more.

“And my aunt’s been talking about coming down and sorting some things out, and I don't really know if I want her to take over…”

“Did you change the locks?”

Callum nods. “Dad said I should, because we don't know if the nursing agency had copies or whatever.”

“Did you give anybody else a key?”

Callum shakes his head.

“Okay, well, that's good. So, what are your main worries? That your aunt’s going to steal your stuff, and that you don't know what to do with the house?”

Callum nods. “I mean, she probably wouldn't…”

“It's your house. If there's stuff that she and your Dad and your other aunt want because it has sentimental value, you can handle that, but your grandad left it to you and it's your stuff.”

Callum had had a series of guilt-trip phone calls from his aunts when the contents of the will were confirmed. Tiny had taken his phone away in the end, and Stan had answered next time an aunt rang.

They didn't call again.

“I mean, they're your family, but you get to draw the line between doing the right thing for them and the right thing for you.” Jordan picks up the popcorn and offers it to Callum before taking a handful. “So, a lot of it depends on what you want to do with the house. If you're going to shut it up, sell it, or rent it out. I would suggest that you don't just shut it up, but you probably don't need to push on with anything until the season’s over.”

That's only a few weeks, now. Where has the year gone?

“I… don't really know what I want to do.” Callum shakes his head.

“That's cool, that's why you're asking me. I'd probably say, if you're not sure, then rent it out. That way you still own it, and you can pay somebody else to look after all the lettings stuff.”

“Okay.”

“So, that means you need to clear the place out. You can let it furnished, makes sense if you've already got a house full of stuff, but you need to move all the things, books and pictures and whatever.”

“Okay.” Callum's hanging on everything he says.

“Get some people to help you, people who will focus and get on with it, not muck around or get sentimental.” _Not most of the team_ , he means, and Callum obviously gets it. “I bet Leah can help you find people. And then you get rid of anything that's rubbish, and you sort and box the rest of it, and put it in storage. If your aunt can tell you something she wants, like, I don't know, a particular painting or something, then you can give it to her if you want, but if she wants to just come down and go through everything to see what she fancies, that’s not okay. Not right now, you can change your mind later.”

Callum nods. Jordan’s vaguely surprised to realise how much information he’s picked up about house clearances from those of his colleagues who deal with high-value residential property rather than the commercial sites he handles.

“And then when all the personal stuff is out of the way, you do any decorating necessary, anything that need freshening up or updating in order to make it more marketable, you make sure it’s really clean, and off you go.”

Callum blinks slowly, but Jordan’s pretty sure he’s taking it all in.

“And you don’t need to remember all that, we can talk about it again whenever.” Jordan’s not got any experience of the kind of bereavement that Callum’s had, but he’s pretty sure that some practical support will be welcome.

“Thank you.”

“Hey, no problem.”

“No, really, though. Everybody’s being kind of… careful. Lots of _you don’t have to worry about all that_ or _I can do it for you_. It’s nice to have somebody just… answer the question.”

Jordan laughs. “I guess I’m the right person for that!” Nobody’s ever going to accuse him of being _too nice_. “Um. I was going to watch a film or something upstairs, but I could hook my laptop up to the TV, if you want to join me…?”

It strikes him as he says it that it’s the first actual overture he’s made to anybody since…

Since he moved in.

Callum looks a little bit surprised.

“Sure.” He shrugs. “Why not? Since you’ve got popcorn and everything.”

 

*

 

Jordan still feels a bit tense when the film students are around, working on their endless shit for the website.

Today they’re apparently filming _A Day In The Life_ with Leah, which is all fine and whatever except that one of the camera guys has got this massive grin on his face. Seriously, his poker face sucks, they’re obviously up to something.

And that never feels good to Jordan.

 

They’re filming Leah watching the guys training, which is contrived because she doesn’t normally come to training. Okay, it is Friday, and sometimes she comes to Friday training because she wants to sort some stuff out for the next day’s game, but it’s all just a little bit suspicious.

Leah is putting up with the students and their slightly odd requests, where they want to film her doing jobs that she wouldn’t actually normally do right now. It probably fits with their artistic vision or whatever.

Jordan can’t help wondering what they’re really here to film, and feeling kind of mad on Leah’s behalf that they’re using her as a front.

He keeps looking over at Fisher and Tucks, to see what they’re up to, but they’re getting better at their innocent faces. Ethan’s always been hard to read, but now all three of them are acting like they have no idea what’s about to hit some poor unsuspecting sucker.

Except that Jordan does suspect. He thought it was too good to last.

 

Max yells at him a couple of times for his lack of focus, and Jordan gets his head into the drills. Shit’s about to go down, but he’ll deal with it when he gets there.

They just better not have touched the fucking Audi.

 

It’s not exactly a surprise to get back to the locker room after training and realise that his underwear is missing. What is a surprise, however, is the way his teammates are reacting.

“Where are my-”

“Has anybody got my-”

Jordan risks looking up from his bag, to find that the guys are digging through their stuff and one by one coming to the same conclusion.

“Who’s nicked my bloody boxers?”

Fish starts to laugh, and every head in the room turns in his direction.

“No, no, it's not me.” He waves off the glares. “I didn't do it. But look!”

He pulls something out of his bag and holds it up. “My pants haven't been nicked. They've been _replaced_.”

The underwear he's holding definitely isn't his - well, Jordan's not going to judge, if a guy wants to wear ladies' underwear, that's his own choice, but…

Fish obviously thinks it's hilarious.

If anybody suggested a prank where they stole a guy's boxers and replaced them with ladies' knickers, Jordan would probably have envisioned some scrap of lace like in the windows of La Senza.

The things Fisher’s holding are… um…

There's a splutter of outrage and William's holding a similar pair. The team stare at one another for a frozen moment, and then they're all diving into their bags.

Every single one of them has had his underwear stolen and replaced with… with…

“Jesus.” Ifan holds up his pair. “I think my mam wears ones like this.”

They're _huge_. They're some of the least sexy underwear that Jordan’s ever seen. The pair he’s got are a pale green, covered in little flowers, and absolutely the kind of underwear that no girl he knows would ever admit to owning.

“They're new, though…?” Jamie's inspecting his carefully. “Still got the packet folds in.”

“They've got to be out of a multipack.” Mark unfolds his. “Anybody else got a… 12 to 14?”

For some reason, that sets off a chain of guys trying to work out who’s got the other pairs from the same pack, like the weirdest sort of blood brothers Jordan's ever experienced. He's apparently now bonded for life with Jamie, Tucker, Jan and Ross, which is not something he ever thought he'd say.

 

“Oh, for…!” Callum’s one of the last to find his, as he was at the back of the line for showers.

Callum doesn't appear to have been given granny pants. They're still a very long way from something Jordan would want to wear, but they're also clearly aimed at younger girls.

“Aww.” Fish has wandered over to inspect them. “They've got little pictures of birds on them.”

“I don't think these are going to fit.” Callum stares at the pink and white monstrosity in his hands.

There's a bit of a pause, because apparently so far none of them has considered _wearing_ them.

“Oh, what the fuck.” As Jordan might have guessed, it's Fish who leads. “We’re going straight home anyway, right?”

 

Jordan thinks for a moment about the bag he's got tucked away in the darkest corner of the shelf above his stall, a carrier bag rolled tightly around a pair of boxers, shorts and a t-shirt, still waiting there as insurance against pranks.

Then he looks around the room. Ifan's laughing as he settles the elastic into place. William's going along with it. Fish and Tucks are taking a bloody photo, because of course they are, and Petr's trying to get in on it.

Jan's getting dressed like this is completely normal.

Jordan catches Tiny's eye, and Tiny shrugs, unfolding his own floral horrors.

Jordan leaves his bag on the shelf.

 

“What's going on?” Devon emerges from the showers with his towel round his hips. “Why are you all looking at me?”

They look at each other, and then look at Devon, who’s staring around with dawning horror as he takes in what they’re inexplicably wearing. Slowly, everybody turns towards his stall.

“Guys…? What’s going on?”

Jordan’s not the only one who can’t help smiling at the grin that’s spreading across Callum’s face.

“His have _got_ to be worse than mine!”

Devon locates his replacement underwear in his bag and balls it into his hand so the guys can’t see it.

“Good job, Fish. Well done. Very funny.”

“It wasn’t me!” Fish protests.

“Sure.”

“It wasn’t!”

“Then why are you the one with a camera?”

“Selfies!”

“In those?”

“Well.” Fish pauses. “I’m not going to put it on Insta or anything…”

“Hang on.” Jamie’s looking around. “If it’s not Fish and he’s not filming our reactions, then somewhere in here…”

Jordan catches on. He’s been in this situation enough times, after all. “Somewhere in here there’s a camera.”

The room descends into chaos.


	31. Hike!

_“So, the guys are currently on the ice for training, and I’m here to do a bit of admin work, swap some posters over.”_ Leah waves a roll of papers at the camera as she walks, away from the ice, leading them out of earshot of any of the guys. _“Or, so they think.”_ There’s a whistle from the ice, a clatter of sticks, and Leah grins. _“However, while the guys are busy…”_ She pushes open the locker room door, and the camera follows her in.

 _“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”_ She goes to the first stall and carefully lifts a couple of items of clothing. _“I’m going to need a whole bottle of antibac gel after this!”_ She picks up a pair of boxer shorts - carefully pinching the waistband between finger and thumb for minimum contact and maximum dramatic effect. _“Bag?”_

Noah holds out a carrier bag. He’s staying out of shot, just the open bag makes it into frame. Leah wrinkles her nose, grins at the camera, and drops the boxers into the bag.

 _“Now, obviously it’s not fair to leave the poor guys with nothing, so-”_ She sighes. _“I’m doing this in the wrong order.”_ She carefully gets the boxers out of the bag, exaggerating her disgust for the camera, and checks the size before dropping them back in. _“Medium. So, we need…”_ She swings her shoulder bag forwards so she can root through it, and produces a small stack of plastic-wrapped packages, sorting through them for the size she wants. _“These.”_

Leah pulls the first pair out of the packet, putting the packets down on the bench, and shakes them out for the camera. _“I always think it’s a shame that guys think all girls’ underwear has to be expensive and/or uncomfortable, so we thought we’d be nice to them.”_

A close up of the packet reveals them to be full briefs in a 16-18. They come in a range of pastel colours, with an unobtrusive floral design.

Leah refolds the pair that she’s holding, and tucks them into the pile of clothes in front of her. _“Okay, next!”_

 

 _“We’ve got something a bit special for the younger guys._ ” She fishes a different packet out of her bag. _“It turns out that there’s a bit of a gap in the market for pretty but comfortable underwear that will fit a guy who works his gluteal muscles as hard as most hockey players do without sacrificing their sense of youth and fun, but we managed to find something in the end.”_ She’s good at this, she sounds like she’s completely serious.

Both pairs are white. One’s covered in prints of little pink birds, and Leah trades that for the shorts in Callum’s bag.

 _“And of course, we mustn’t forget the youngest member of the team._ ”

The last pair are plain on the front, and Leah turns them around with a flourish to show that there’s a rainbow arching over the back. _“Who wouldn’t want these?”_

 

*

 

When Erin edits it together, the next shot is from one of the hidden cameras, tucked onto one of the hot water pipes that runs across the ceiling.

She cuts in a shot from outside the locker room where they’re pretending to interview Leah as she swaps a poster over. Ryan’s actually focusing the camera on the guys walking back to the locker room. As the door closes behind them, Leah turns and gives a thumbs-up to the camera.

The hidden cameras - and the microphone secreted on another of the pipes - pick up the general chatter in the room.

Erin pixelates out some incidental full-frontal nudity, and cuts a section where Snapper’s in frame, shoulders tense as he searches for his underwear. They’ve made a decision to keep him out of the individual reaction shots for this.

Fisher’s reaction is great, and there’s a camera that happens to be placed exactly right to catch William.

Erin’s pretty sure she knows who placed that one. (Noah. It’s Noah. Subtlety is not his strong point.)

 

They hadn’t expected the guys to put the underwear on - not all the guys, at least, and it’s absolute gold even if most of the images are unsuitable for the website.

Devon’s entrance couldn’t have been more perfectly timed if they’d scripted it.

And then it gets even better when the guys realise that there must be a camera somewhere and start searching for it.

Fish is still only in the underwear and a t-shirt, which is…

...sadly also not suitable for the website. Erin makes a note that it should go into her file of shots that she chose not to use, as evidence of her ability to pick the right shots over the wrong ones.

Ethan spots one of the cameras, and Erin uses the shot of him pointing at it, followed by Tiny reaching for the camera as the guys crowd in behind him.

It’s perfect.

She puts the graphic of their prank-ometer over the still, and sets the numbers to run up from 9 to 28 as the little bell that goes with it rings out 19 chimes in rapid succession.


	32. Wednesday - Ross Prince

_Scorpions v Huskies_

__

 

The alarm goes off at eight thirty.

It's a Game Day.

It doesn't matter which order his feet hit the floor, but Ross never allows himself to hit snooze. The alarm goes off, Ross gets out of bed and goes to the bathroom.

There won't be anybody else trying to use it. Mum and Dad have their ensuite, so mostly it's like having his own bathroom, and if they have family staying then Dad always tells them - on a game day, Ross will get up at eight thirty and he goes straight into the bathroom, please take this into account when planning your morning.

Ross flushes the toilet, washes his hands, and then reaches automatically for his razor because the next thing he does on a Game Day is shave.

He stares at his reflection. He shaved before the game on Sunday, because the routine doesn't change on days when he knows that Jonny's got the start, but that was a regular season game.

Today is the first game of the post-season.

Tonight, the Huskies play their first playoffs game for years.

Ross sets his razor carefully back in the tray by the sink.

His yoga routine takes twenty eight minutes.

Breakfast is scrambled eggs with three slices of wholemeal toast. Sometimes Mum makes it, sometimes Ross cooks it himself, but it's always the same.

He always makes his tea himself, because it's got to be exactly right. That’s not really a Game Day thing, that’s just because Ross is fussy about his tea.

Ross always washes his hair when he showers on a Game Day morning, and again when he showers after the game. It doesn't matter after training.

He knows, in an abstract sense, that his hair could look better. He doesn't really have a style. It's just clean, when he's done it, it doesn't really look any different.

Maybe, when the season is over, maybe he might ask Ethan or Vince where they get their hair cut. The off-season is the best time to make a major change like going to an actual barber instead of letting Mum trim his hair in the kitchen. Then it can't affect anything.

It's not like it matters what he looks like. You can't see it, with the mask on.

He drives himself down to the rink to get on the bus. Even for home games, he doesn't travel with Dad.

Dad’ll be at the game, up in Leicester, but when it's an away game he's just a travelling fan and not the chairman of the fundraising club, and either way Ross doesn't speak to him before the game.

Ross doesn't really speak to anyone before a game, except Max, and maybe Malcolm if there's an issue with his kit. Some of the guys will talk to him, particularly Scott, but nobody expects an answer.

You can get away with odd behaviour, when you're a goalie. Ross sometimes wonders, when he can't sleep, whether he was able to develop his particular behaviours because he's a goalie, if he would have been better at getting on with people if he'd become a defenseman instead, or whether he became a goalie _because_ he's a bit different.

_What came first, the goalie or the weirdness?_

Ross was completely average at school, academically, but he stuck out because he was awkward. Kids like easy targets, and Ross has never found it easy to make friends. He always had the wrong sort of shirts on non-uniform days, although he never understood what was wrong about them, and his mum cut his hair for him.

Hockey, though, he's always liked. Dad used to take him to watch, when he was little, and Dad likes to tell the story that the only thing Ross ever said he wanted to do was play hockey. It sounds cute, the way Dad says it, like Ross used to want to do hockey above anything else, but actually he just means that that’s the only time Ross expressed an opinion.

He liked it when it was his turn to be in goal, when they were all just learning and taking turns. It's not so much about working together, being the goalie, it's about Ross versus The Puck. The Puck is easy to understand. It doesn't say one thing and mean another. It doesn't care what he thinks about cartoons or football or girls or politics, it just wants to get in the net, and Ross just has to stop it.

When Ross had a bad day at school, he could go to training, and put on his gear.

_Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me._

Except that words _can_ hurt, if you listen, if you believe them.

But no sticks or stones, real or metaphorical, could get past the pads that Ross straps on in the same steady order every time, and the words don't either. Everything fades to a background hum as the pads go on, and then he puts on his mask, and the world he sees through the bars has no power to touch him.

It takes an hour and a half to get to the Scorpions. Faceoff is at seven thirty, because it’s a weeknight. On ice warm-up begins at six fifty. Doors open to the fans at six thirty. Most of the guys play two-touch between six and six-fifteen, but Ross puts his headphones on and stretches. They get to the rink at five so they have time to eat something before they take their gear through to the locker room, change into base layers. The bus leaves home at three thirty. Ross parks up at the rink at ten past three. He leaves the house at two fifty five. He sleeps for an hour after lunch. Lunch was pasta, at half past twelve.

They don’t play many games on weekdays. All of the timings are out by an hour from where they should be for an away game against the Scorpions.

The clocks will go forward on Sunday.

Ross puts on his pads, and he leads the guys out for warm-up.

Warm-up’s a good time for superstitions. The guys all like to do the same things at the same time, and it takes somebody else’s ice and makes it just like their own. The bounces may be different, but _here_ is the spot where Ethan bumps his shoulder into the boards, _here_ is where Petr weaves a puck through Ifan’s skates, _here_ is the curve of the team waiting to shoot one by one.

Ross taps his stick against the net and makes it his.

There’s a moment, before puck-drop. The ice has been cut, and Ross has scored his crease the right way. Jan’s at the dot, Vince to the right, William to the left. Ethan and Scott circle past Ross and tap on his pads, a muffled thump from outside his shell. There are five shapes in _not-my-team_ colours, and a distant knowledge that at the other end of the ice there’s another man doing his own version of what Ross does. Everybody focuses, the whole world goes still, and the referee releases The Puck.

_Focus._

The Puck doesn't actually care which net it rests in, for all that there are games where it seems that it's only coming for Ross. The Puck is content to be carried away from Ross by the guys in red, for a chance to slip past the green and white pads in the far net.

The Puck is also content to be brought back, on the blade of Valeri Ezeriņš’ stick, and it _wants_.

Ross drops, sets his left pad as a wall that turns The Puck away (0:1), lifts himself right back onto his blades as Scott scoops it around behind the net.

Ross looks over his shoulder to see The Puck coming forward from the right, pushes his upper arm against the post as The Puck goes to Vince, to Jan, to David Smith and the wave turns, Smith sending The Puck straight for-

Ross lifts his glove into the path of The Puck and closes leather around rubber. (0:2)

Line change. Ross hands The Puck into the linesman’s care, turns to his right. Skates three quarters of the way to the boards, makes a tight 180 degree clockwise turn. Skates back to the net, turns 90 degrees clockwise and glides back until his shoulders hit the crossbar.

The linesman lets The Puck go and Petr smacks it to Jamie. Jamie takes it away.

Ross waits.

The flurry of activity that means The Puck is trying to get into the other net is irrelevant. Ross only has to protect this one.

There's another press of white-and-green jerseys, as Dominick Štěpán attacks with Jamie Lewis.

Ross presses The Puck to the ice until the whistle goes (0:3). Sometimes he thinks he can feel it twitching under his hand, like a moth trying to escape, but not tonight.

Lewis wins the faceoff, flicking The Puck out to Andrew Sinclair. Sinclair pivots, weaving The Puck through his skates, and shoots.

Ross reaches, and The Puck grazes his shoulder as it rushes to the back of the net (1:4). The red light comes on in the corner of his vision, and Ross hooks the Puck out with his stick, scoops it into his glove.

_You're not welcome here._

The second period brings him a different net, but the ice has been cut and Ross scores his crease the right way. Jan’s at the dot, Vince to the right, William to the left. Ethan and Scott circle past Ross and tap on his pads.

_Focus._

*

Ross is well aware what's real and what's just his imagination. The Puck didn't really laugh as it danced past him right at the end of the third, taking the score from 1-1 to 2-1 and his save percentage for the game to 93.6%.

They did lose the game.

They were always expected to lose. The Huskies were the lowest qualifying team in their group, and the Scorpions were the top, and maybe the scores are all reset to 0 but that doesn't change that beating the Scorpions on their own ice was always supposed to be the toughest match of this round.

It just means that all of the other games matter just that fraction more. They have to beat everybody else.


	33. Thursday - Petr

 

The Scorpions are probably one of the best teams to play for a mid-week away game, because if the game runs clean without too many stoppages and penalties, and if they finish in regulation, they can be home and in bed by midnight.

Last night ran clean, although the Huskies would all have preferred to go to overtime. Even one point for an overtime loss would have been preferable to coming home empty handed.

They were home by midnight, but most of the guys have cut back on their working hours this week, and so Petr hadn’t set his alarm quite as early as usual.

That means it’s not until 8am that he rolls over, silences the irritating music that he picked deliberately for his alarm because he didn’t want to listen to it and it annoys him into getting up, checks his messages and remembers that he broke up with Katja.

It’s been eight weeks, and sometimes he forgets.

 

It was the right thing to do.

 

Ester doesn’t understand about playoffs and midweek games, so she’ll have wanted her morning run at the usual time. Roberto’s schedule doesn’t change for playoffs either. Mark grumbled all the way home last night about having to get up at the same time as normal, so Petr’s not entirely surprised when he opens the curtains and sees Jamie trailing Ester back towards the house. Of course Mark managed to make Jamie get up early too.

Petr's pleased that somebody's already taken Ester out, and a tiny bit disappointed that he didn't get his morning walk with his best girl. The extra time in bed was definitely worth it, but there is something special about Ester’s enthusiastic early-morning greetings. It’s nice to have somebody who’s always happy to see him.

 

*

 

Training has been cancelled for tomorrow night, as they gave up yesterday’s free evening to the playoffs, but that just means that tonight's training is very much not optional.

Petr's not sure where some of the guys get their energy from. He only worked three hours today and he’s feeling it, but some of the guys did a full shift on their day jobs despite the time they got home last night.

Max doesn't push them too hard, focussed on specific drills rather than running them into the ice, but Petr's still glad to hit the showers afterwards.

He deliberately threw the boxers and t-shirt he plans to sleep in into his bag, so he can put them on now and when he gets home he'll just need to lose his hoodie and sweats and topple face-first onto the mattress.

 _“Come on.”_ Jan's waiting by the door. _“Or Ifan's going to go without us.”_

Ifan went to work for six o'clock this morning. Petr doesn't want to delay him.

 

Ifan's waiting in the lobby.

“I'm not hanging around.” He announces as soon as he sees them. “If you're doing this now, you need to find another way to get home.”

“Doing what?” Petr's doesn't understand. Ifan's accent is stronger when he's tired.

“Petr…”

He turns his head so fast that his bag almost falls off his shoulder.

“Katja!”

“I'm going now.” Ifan warns. “Your call.”

“Um.”

He can stay here, and find out why she's here, what she wants, and walk home when he's already so tired, or he can get a lift now with Ifan and lie awake all night wondering what Katja wanted to say to him.

 _“Give me your bag.”_ Jan takes it from him without waiting for an answer. _“You've got your phone?”_ Petr pats his pockets. _“Keys? Wallet?”_

Petr nods.

“Okay. Ifan, let's go.”

“Sure?” Ifan checks before he follows Jan.

Petr nods again. _“Ano_.”

 

Ifan and Jan leave, and Petr just stands there and looks at Katja. He can't quite grasp that she's here, and for once in his life he doesn't know what to say. Their last conversation had them both in tears.

Katja looks like she hasn't been sleeping well either.

“Do you…” There are no chairs in the lobby, but the long windowsill is wide enough to sit on.

Katja nods, and follows him.

The silence stretches for what feels like ages. Even though she’s wearing a jacket he can feel the warmth from her body where they’re sitting so close together.

Eventually he can’t let the moment last any longer.

“Why are you here?”

Katja stares at the floor between her feet.

“I broke up with Einar.”

Petr’s heart thumps.

“Why did you do that?” Katja and Einar have been together for years. Together, long distance, fighting and making up. Staying together.

“Because…” Katja’s voice has an uncharacteristic wobble. “Because I didn’t miss him. When we fought, I could go days without talking to him. And when I… when you… When you left, I…” She clears her throat, glances up at him and back at the floor. “I was angry. I was angry that you could do that to me. Angry that you would make that choice and walk away when you always knew-” Her voice catches and she stops for a moment.

“And then Tamsin said… Tamsin said I wasn’t angry with you, I was angry with me, and I didn’t have any right to be mad with you when we’d never been a real couple.”

Petr always liked Tamsin. She’d worked with them at the hotel, when they first met, and she shares the flat with Katja and Anabel.

“I wasn’t surprised that she’d take your side.” Katja admits, with a little smile, still directed at the floor. “You were always everybody’s favourite.”

Petr echoes the smile. He can’t deny that he gets on with people.

“Anyway, I was upset about you right away. I didn’t want to go days without talking to you. I called you so many times but hung up before it connected. And then I had another row with Einar.”

She looks up again, and she looks so _sad_ that Petr wants to put his arms around her.

He tucks both hands into the pocket of his hoodie.

“And the days went past.” She’s staring blankly across the lobby now, obviously finding it easier to talk when she’s not looking at Petr. “And normally the time would come when I started to want to talk to him, and… but it didn’t. I just wanted to talk to you. But I couldn’t, because you didn’t want to do it any more. I couldn’t call you and say that I was fighting with the other boyfriend.”

That’s the first time, ever, that she’s referred to Petr as her boyfriend, even in a sideways way like that. It’s like something running down his spine.

“So I called Einar.” She sounds so flat about it. “I called Einar, and I said, let’s not do this any more. And he said-” there’s a pause while she’s working out the best translation from the Norwegian that the conversation must have happened in. “He said _what, baby, let’s not fight any more?_ And I said _no, let’s not pretend we love each other any more._ And he laughed.”

She looks at Petr out of the corner of her eye. “I don’t think he believed me, at the time, but I haven’t spoken to him since. I haven’t contacted him and he hasn’t contacted me.”

Petr’s mouth is dry. “What is… when did you…?”

“A month ago.” Katja twists, now, so that she’s half facing him. “I was sure, right away, that we were done, me and Einar, but I could see that Tamsin and Anabel didn’t think… So I waited. To know. To know that I didn’t want Einar, didn’t need Einar, but that it got easier every day to not have him in my life and it never got easier not to have you.”

“So…” Petr pauses for a moment. She’s looking up at him, their height difference reduced but not eliminated when they’re sitting down. “So what does this mean?”

“It means…” Katja doesn’t look away although he knows she probably wants to, when she’s nervous like this. “Would you… Can we try again?”

“To be together?”

“And just us,” she rushes to add, “just us, no Einar, no anybody. Just us for real.”

Somebody sensible and measured would probably give him good advice here. They might tell him to think about it, take his time, not rush back into a situation that was so far from perfect before. They might say that even with Katja’s promises now, it will take time to build trust, and that if he’s going to do this, it should be slow.

Petr knows that he’s not sensible and measured. He’s got Jan for that. He can’t call Jan now, though, Jan was just as tired as Petr after training, so instead he takes a moment to really think about what Jan might say, if he was here, leaning against the pillar and waiting for Petr to sort this out so that they could go home.

In his head, imaginary-Jan barely glances up from whatever he’s been doing on his phone while he waits.

 _“Do what makes you happy.”_ He says. _“It might work. It might not. If you want to get back together, get back together.”_ There’s a nonchalant shrug that’s Jan’s trademark. _“It’s only up to you.”_

The imaginary Jan is right.

“Yes.” Petr reaches the short distance for Katja’s hand. “Yes. Let’s try again.”

“Really?” Katja looks surprised, like she hadn’t expected him to say yes - or rather, like she just hadn’t thought this far ahead.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Katja blinks, like she’s just realised that they’re sitting in the deserted lobby of the ice rink. “Um. Do you-”

Petr leans in and kisses her. It’s meant to be quick, gentle, just to seal the fresh start, but Katja pushes forwards immediately, and-

And the windowsill of the ice rink is _really_ not the most comfortable place that they could be doing this.

“Do you want to-”

“Shall we-”

They both speak at the same time, stop, laugh.

“Come back to mine?” Katja offers.

Petr’s spent a lot of nights at Katja’s flat, in Katja’s bed, and the sudden memory of all the times he’s walked home early in the morning is the first thing that’s given him pause since he looked up and saw her standing here.

“Your toothbrush is still in the bathroom.” Katja adds. “And… do you have to be back early tomorrow?”

Petr shakes his head. “No. I’m not working until two o’clock.”

“I’m on the late shift tomorrow, so maybe you could… we could talk more, over breakfast?”

Petr squeezes the hand that he’s still holding. “Yes.” He can feel the smile spreading across his face as he stands up and pulls her to her feet. “Yes.”  



	34. Friday - Jo

Casey had come up with it by himself, shuffling by her desk with uncharacteristic nervousness. He's normally very confident in everything he does, so it was obvious to Jo that he wanted something he wasn't sure he could have.

“Um.”

“Yes?” He’d caught her just as she’d finished reviewing the quarterly board report. She’d need to re-read it, but it’s best to do something else first, come back to it fresh.

“You’re going to England.”

“Yes.” For a couple of weeks, for the Huskies’ first post-season in a long time. Casey was booking her flights.

“Um. I’ve got some vacation days to use up.”

Well, it was bound to be quieter in the office with both Stan and Jo absorbed in hockey. There’s not so much for her assistant to do if she’s practically on vacation herself.

“Do you want to take some time?”

Casey looked relieved that she wasn't just saying no flat-out, but also still slightly nervous, which suggested that there was something more.

“I was wondering…”

Jo had an eleven o’clock meeting to get to. “What is it?”

“Can I come with you?” Jo blinked, and the rest of it came spilling out of Casey. “I’ve been following along all year, and talking to some of the guys, and I’d really like to actually meet them and see them play…”

“Okay.”

“Really?” He clearly wasn’t expecting a quick agreement, but Jo liked the idea. Casey had worked pretty hard, from a distance, on the admin work for the changes to Stan’s portfolio that have had to happen to support the Huskies, and if he wanted to see what all the fuss was about, she could justify having her assistant accompany her on a business trip. Especially a business trip that only has to be signed off by Stan. “Wow.” He paused, clearly remembering that there was something else he wanted to ask for. “Um. So, um, as I was going to take it as vacation, I was thinking…”

 

And that’s how Jo ends up on a transatlantic flight with Casey and his boyfriend.

 

*

 

It's half past six in the morning when they land, but by the time they've cleared customs and picked up the hire car it's getting on for nine.

“It's crazy.” Guillermo looks out of the car window at the traffic.

“We’re close to London.” Jo checks the mirrors as she merges onto the M25. “It's a lot better than it would have been an hour ago.”

“I meant the whole driving on the wrong side of the road thing. But the amount of traffic’s pretty mad.” Guillermo’s never been to Europe, he explained on the plane, usually spending his vacations with family in Mexico.

“You get used to it.” Jo pulls out around a truck. “Eventually.”

Guillermo glances over his shoulder and snorts. “Casey’s asleep already.”

Jo smiles. Casey's been an awkward mix of trying to be cool about travelling with his boss and excited about going to England. Jo and Guillermo both slept on the plane, but Casey watched three movies and ate the meals that Guillermo didn't want as well as his own. He'd been unusually quiet by the time they got to the Avis desk, and he hasn't said a word since he volunteered to sit in the back of the car.

“He's been a bit nervous about staying in a house full of sports guys.” Guillermo mentions it casually, and Jo’s momentarily irritated with herself for not thinking that they might have assumed that the Huskies would be as stereotypically homophobic as the media suggests hockey players can be.

“I think they're looking forward to meeting him.” Fisher is, that's for sure.

“And, um.” Guillermo pulls his thoughts together. “There won't be any issue with us sharing a room?”

“I doubt it.” Jo pulls into the left hand lane for the M40 exit. “They give Alec grief about his boyfriend but only because he's dating a guy who works for a rival team. I've never heard anybody have a problem with the fact that he's dating a guy in the first place.”

Guillermo nods slowly. “Good to know.” There’s a little pause, and then he deliberately changes the subject. “Casey said that your playoffs don’t work in the same way, but he got a bit confused on the details?”

Jo’s happy to move the conversation onto safer ground.

“Sure. Well, the top eight teams go through to the playoffs. The quarter finals are a round robin in two groups of four, one home and one away game against each team, and the top two teams in each group go through to the finals weekend. They play that as a knockout competition, two semi-finals on the Saturday and then the final on Sunday, and that’s going to be in Coventry which isn’t a home rink for anybody but is a lot bigger than most of the arenas in this league.”

“Okay.” Guillermo nods slowly. “So… six games for the quarter finals?”

“That started on Wednesday, then they’ve playing both days this weekend, next Wednesday and both days next weekend.”

“And then everybody goes to one arena for the rest of the tournament.”

“Yes. It’s apparently a big party weekend, fans from all the teams go.”

“Sounds like fun!”

“The boys have got to get there, first…”

 

Jo makes Guillermo wake Casey up when they're about ten minutes away from the Hall.

“We're likely to get a welcoming committee.” She warns. “Best not to spring that on him when he's asleep!”

 

Sure enough, by the time Jo parks up in the yard, the back door’s open and Fisher’s bouncing in the doorway as they get out of the car

“Hi! Everybody okay with dogs?”

“Sure.”

“Yeah.”

Casey and Guillermo both speak at once.

Jo doesn't answer, the question’s not directed at her.

“Cool.” Fisher glances over his shoulder, says something to somebody behind him, and Ester streaks past his legs.

“Hi puppy!” Guillermo crouches down to meet her right away, and Jo’s certain that everything's going to go just fine.

 

“Your room is on the top floor.” Fisher takes Casey’s bag and passes it to Tucker, who must have been holding Ester back. “You’re sharing Vince’s bathroom, because Ethan’s got so many products there isn’t actually room for anybody else to get in there.” He takes Guillermo’s bag, waving off his faint protests, and gestures into the house. “After you.”

Casey glances back over his shoulder, and Jo waves them on before picking up her own bag and heading into her apartment.

 

They're just in time for lunch, so Jo puts her things away and heads over to the kitchen.

“Slow day today.” Roberto tells her, as she picks up a plate and examines the self-service choices in front of her. “No training tonight, and nobody much is around at the moment.”

“Petr didn't come home last night.” Mark emerges from the walk-in fridge with a loaf of bread. “I thought he'd slept in when he wasn't here for breakfast, but it turns out that Jan and Ifan left him talking to Katja after training and he never came home.”

Jo loves the way these boys assume she wants all the gossip the minute she steps off the plane.

“He got in about fifteen minutes before you did.” Roberto's almost as bad. “In yesterday's clothes.”

“I thought they'd split up?”

It's not like she _doesn't_ want the gossip.

“Mm.” Roberto gives her a knowing look. “They had.”

Jo glances over at where Mark’s constructing sandwiches, but he doesn't seem bothered by the idea that Petr's getting back together with his ex. Mark had been really upset when his girlfriend left him, but that was a couple of months ago and he seems to be doing okay. Jo’s pleased, Mark’s a nice kid and she hadn't been the only one ready to wring Gabbi’s neck.

Mark plates two sandwiches. “Do you want one, Jo?”

“That's okay, I’ll make myself one. Don't know what I want yet.”

“What about Casey and Guillermo?” Mark stumbles over Guillermo’s name as if he's not sure he's got it right.

“Fisher’s kidnapped them.”

“Okay. He can make sure they get fed, then.” Mark screws the lid onto the mayonnaise. “I'll leave the bread out.”

 

*

 

Stan finds her in the office after lunch.

“Working already? You are allowed a day off after an overnight flight, you know.”

“I know. I just wanted to send a couple of emails.”

“And you’re abandoning Casey to the team? At least you’re not making him work!”

Jo laughs. “They’ve both been adopted already. I saw them briefly at lunch time, but now Fisher and Tucks have dragged them out for a tour.”

“You are allowed some vacation time yourself, you know.” Stan pulls out a chair and sits down.

“I actually might do that. I was planning to get Casey to help me wrap some things up on Monday and Tuesday, and then we’ll both take the rest of the week off.”

Stan’s familiar mischievous smile spreads across his face, and Jo has a brief pang of nostalgia for the old days.

“I’ll send him for Timmy’s first thing Monday.” Stan’s got a glint in his eye. “Just like normal. See what he does.”

Jo grins. Casey’s not really a morning person, and he does like his routines to start the day. Back in Toronto there’s a Starbucks right by the entrance to their offices, but Casey insists on going over to Tim Horton’s instead. They all have an unchanging standard order, and Casey just fetches them every morning. Even after almost a year in the UK, he’ll still know Stan’s preference, and Jo’s pretty sure that if Stan asks him early enough in the day, Casey will be halfway out the door before he realises that he doesn’t know where the nearest Timmy’s actually is.

Jo doesn’t be the one to tell him that the first UK branch isn’t due to open until June, and that it’s going to be 500 kilometres away.

Or that the nearest coffee shop to the Hall is a fifteen minute walk.

 

“Since we’ve got the place to ourselves,” Stan props an elbow on Leah’s desk. “Do you want to give me a potted summary of how we’re doing? I know, I know-” he carries on as soon as she opens her mouth to respond, “you send me the figures every month, but I feel like we haven’t actually had a conversation about it for a while.”

“As a company, Harfield Holdings is doing fine.” Jo switches effortlessly to business mode. “We’re still working on the sale of the printing business, but there’s been some more interest recently and it looks like we’re going to get the price we want.”

Stan’s portfolio is pretty diverse. In addition to his work at Petersen’s, he used to pay a lot of personal attention to his investment choices, and he’s supported and turned round a number of small businesses since his official retirement.

Since his decision to move to the UK and invest in the Huskies, they’ve been working on a plan to sell off the more successful parts of his tiny empire, the bits that don’t need his backing any more, and improve their cashflow.

It’s not that he’s slowing down, exactly, but he’s not as actively involved in his many projects as he was a year or so ago. Jo’s struck, occasionally, by the realisation that he’s well past the age when most people stop working, and that the sale of some self-contained parts of the Harfield Holdings portfolio is probably his way of starting to wind down.

It’s not something she really wants to think about.

Stan himself seems to be in good health, still getting around without his stick as often as not, claiming that the guys on the team keep him young when really that’s just his own spirit.

“And the team?”

“I think you probably know that just as well as I do.” Jo humours him anyway. “It’s not great, but it could be a lot worse. We’re going to make a loss this year, but we were expecting that, and it’s not a massive loss compared to the last few seasons. Ticket sales have gone up a lot over the course of the season, and if we can keep it up for the next two seasons we might actually turn a profit.”

Stan settles back in his seat, happy to hear it said out loud that his crazy project might just be classed as a success.

“Do you still think I’m a crazy old man for doing this?”

“Yes.” Jo grins at him. “But life would be pretty boring, otherwise!”


	35. Saturday - Ifan

_Huskies v Blizzard_

 

“Who’s got the pepper?” Vince raises his voice to be heard over the general clamour of team lunch. Ifan winces theatrically and leans away, rubbing his ear.

“Incoming!” At the far end of the table, Tucks is winding up for an overarm throw, before Maisie shoots him a Look and he subsides, elbowing Fish in the side. “Pass that up to Vince.”

Nobody's actually going to throw a pepper mill the length of the table, but Maisie's developing her mother's ability to settle the whole pack of hockey players with one disapproving glance. Only Scott's immune. Ifan's found himself apologising on occasion despite being used to spending the summers with the children of the extended Evans clan, and even Max gets caught out now and then.

The pepper goes hand to hand instead, Fish to Devon, Devon to Jonny, Jonny to Ethan and finally to Vince.

Ifan lifts it out of Vince’s hand as soon as he’s finished seasoning his pasta, and passes it on to Mark. Mark’s also grown up with a pile of brothers and settles automatically into being silly just for the sake of it, handing the pepper on to Jamie as if he’d asked for it.

It gets around the table three times before Maisie’s unable to hold her giggles in any longer.

 

*

 

It's like there's static electricity crackling through the team and making the hair on Ifan's arms stand on end. Even the guys who weren't Huskies last season are feeling it. Mark, Snapper, Ethan, Devon, it’s not such a big deal for them, but anybody who was here last year has this look about them that means Ifan’s not the only one who keeps wanting to grab people and share _we made it to playoffs!_ , that Ifan's not the only one who can't quite believe that they're here.

It winds around the team as they go through their usual pre-game routines, getting their gear together and indulging in the familiar debate about who's going in which car.

Mark insists that they shouldn't have too many set-in-stone rituals, because they have to be able to work without them, and Max agrees. The team have just replaced repetitive lift-sharing arrangements with repetitive arguing about lift-sharing arrangements, but the thought was sound.

Ifan's driving today, taking Jan, Petr and Scott. Ethan's taking Jamie and Mark, William's taking Max and Vince. Jonny's got Tiny and Callum. Fish and Tucker are going to give Stan a lift, although they still haven't agreed on which car to take, and Snapper's taking Devon and Guillermo. Ifan's pretty sure they're taking Casey as well, but since they're only speaking Spanish at the moment it's hard to tell.

“Are you going with the Spanish contingent?” Ifan sidles up to Casey, just to check.

“Oh, uh.” Casey’s doing a pretty good job of remembering who's who on the team, but Ifan suspects he's not 100% certain of everybody just 24 hours after meeting them. “No. I'm coming down with Leah and Jo. And Alec.”

Ifan nods. “Snapper's car is pretty small in the back.”

Even if Casey and Guillermo aren't built like hockey players, they're both tall.

 

Ross is driving himself, like he always does. Nobody's messing with goalie mojo.

 

*

 

It’s absolutely crazy down at the rink. Ifan and the guys are trying to get into their normal game-space, follow their normal routines, because Max keeps telling them it’s just another game, trying to stop the pressure from getting to them, but there’s a buzz in the air and every now and then Ifan catches somebody’s eye and has to pull himself together.

The Huskies haven’t made it to playoffs for a really long time. This is the first home-playoffs game for more years than anybody wants to admit to, and the fans know it.

There are a lot more vintage Huskies jerseys out there than Ifan would have expected, and that's the thing that's really standing out for him. The number of people coming to games has risen steadily over the season, as they finally started to win some games, and the red and white has spread through the stands, but it really hits Ifan that there are people here who've been holding onto their Huskies jerseys for years, never giving up hope.

Ifan wants to win for them.

 

He doesn't spot the Evans contingent until he skates out for warm up and Dai meets him at centre ice.

 _“I brought my fan club.”_ Dai addresses him in Welsh out of habit. They always speak Welsh on the ice, mostly because nobody else can understand them.

Ifan twists to where Dai’s pointing.

_“Actually, I think that's my fan club.”_

They've got a huge banner strung up on the railing in front of their seats. The red, green and white conveniently represents both their country and the combined colours of the Huskies and Blizzard jerseys.

**Ni allai Evans golli (y gem hon)!**

Mam’s right in the middle of them all. Owen's trying to settle the kids, Mared’s helping Gethin distribute hot chocolate, and then Bethan realises that they've been spotted and they all go nuts.

 _“Jesus.”_ Dai shakes his head.

 _“It's okay.”_ Ifan reassures him. _“Probably nobody can tell they're with us.”_

Dai looks back at the giant banner with its line of Welsh dragons representing the varying levels of artistic skill amongst their nieces and nephews. Every single member of the group has an Evans jersey of some description.

_“Hmm. I guess you're right.”_

_“Is Mam wearing a Devils jersey?”_

_“I guess she doesn't want to pick favourites.”_ Ifan shrugs. That's fine, he knows he's Mam’s favourite really.

“Dai! Stop gossiping and get to work!”

Dai twists and salutes whichever of his teammates just yelled at him.

_“See you after.”_

_“See you after.”_

They never wish each other luck, since they both know they don't mean it.

 

“Right then, lads.” Max bangs his hand against the side of his stall until they all fall silent. “Game two! We got the result we expected on Wednesday, but we're not planning to drop any more games.”

They weren't planning to lose on Wednesday, either, but Ifan knows what he means.

“So, this is just another game. The Blizzard have come to us three times this year, and we've beaten them twice. Let's make it a hat trick, huh?”

There's a clatter of agreement from the boys.

“We’re expecting Rhodes to start, and they beat the Griffins on Wednesday so they're feeling confident. We can take advantage of that. Vince and William with Jan, Jamie and Ifan with Petr. Snapper on Mark's wing, and Callum on your first shift. I'll yell as we go if Devon or I'm going out instead. Scott, Ethan, you're out first.”

He doesn't need to say _Ross between the pipes_. Jonny's not expecting to go out, riding that line between the relaxation of a guy who doesn't have to play tonight, and the tension of a guy who has to watch helpless from the bench while the rest of them give it everything they've got.

“Sixty minutes, guys! Let's get this one in the bag.”

William's already loitering by the door, ready for the fistbumps he won't let them leave the locker room without. Petr's bouncing from foot to foot chanting to himself in Czech. Ifan had always assumed that it was just Petr talking to himself like the lunatic he is, but Jan sometimes interjects, fitting into the rhythm of Petr's words as if it's a set call-and-answer that they both know by heart. Neither of them will explain it.

“Ready when you are, Ross!”

Ross ignores William, just like he does every game he starts, bent over and resting on his pads while he finishes getting his head into whatever weird space he inhabits when he's in his gear. The rest of the team start to filter out, gathering in the corridor ready to be announced. Ifan hangs back, like usual, until the room’s almost empty and Ross’ head comes up. They make eye contact, Ross gives him the same sharp nod as always. Ifan spins for the door, knocking his fist against William’s and joining the guys outside.

“Here we go boys! Here we go!” He picks up his stick from the rack, stuffs his mouth guard in and grins at Jamie.

Ross appears from the locker room and they part to let him through. Ifan looks up towards the DJ box and raises his stick to say that they're ready to go.

 

**_Ladies and Gentlemen! Boys, Girls, and the uncivilised rabble in block J! Please get on your feet and show the guys that you’re here to run with the Pack, because it's Saturday night, it's the playoffs, and here! Are! Your! HUSKIES! AWOOOOOOOOOOO!_ **


	36. Sunday - Ben

_Griffins v Huskies_

__

It's less than two hours on the bus to get home, but everybody's feeling a bit flat after coming so close to a win and having it snatched out from under them.

It doesn't matter how hard you fought and how close you came, this is playoffs and the Griffins came away with two points. There's a lot more hard work in front of them.

It felt like a really long game tonight, endless stops and starts, but the Sunday faceoff time means that it's not much after nine when they pile onto the bus. Nobody wanted to get burgers, Roberto's promised to have dinner ready to eat as soon as they get back, and he's packed them snacks for the way home.

Ben hands his and Jack’s kit bags over to be loaded under the bus, and goes to investigate the food situation. Jack heads straight for the steps of the bus.

“Injury dibs!”

It’s an established rule that the most injured guy on the team at any given moment gets first refusal of the back seat of the bus. Jack’s injury isn’t that bad, not really, but he’s definitely the guy with back seat privileges tonight. Even if he’s admitted that he’s only wearing the sling because it’s a lazy way to keep an ice pack held against what’s going to be a spectacular bruise by tomorrow, Ben’s not going to mock him for it. The shot he blocked would have gone in for sure otherwise. The sling’s also a good reminder to everybody that they should really avoid Jack’s left side.

It’s inevitable that it’s Ben who ends up carrying all Jack’s crap, of course. Maybe next year they should get themselves a rookie.

He picks up two of the wrapped packages from the box of food that Leah’s supervising - some sort of bun, at first glance, just to keep them going until they get home - and two bottles of Lucozade Sport, one red, one green, tucking it all up against his chest with one arm as he climbs onto the bus and heads for the back to deliver Jack’s share.

“One unidentified baked item,” Ben hands the food over, followed by the green bottle, “and a lime thingy.”

“Ta.” Jack puts them down in the empty seat between his left shoulder and the window. “Where are you going?”

“...To my seat…?”

“You should sit here.” Jack indicates the three seats to his right.

Ben’s too tired to bother pretending to argue about it. “Okay. Just let me get my…” He turns to go and collect the bits and pieces he’d left on the bus, not needing them in the rink, only to find Devon right behind him, holding out his bag. “Oh. Thanks.”

Devon just grins and slinks back down the bus. Ben gives in and takes a seat, tucking his own food safely out of Jack’s reach.

He might be his best friend, but some things don’t need to be shared. Jack’s not _that_ injured, he’ll be fine to play the next game.

“What are the sisters saying? My phone’s covered in notifications.”

It’s a credit to their friendship, or something, that Ben can understand Jack when he’s got that much cake in his mouth.

“Let me check.”

It was inevitable that Ben and Jack’s sisters would meet one day, and inevitable that they would join forces and merge into one giant, evil super-sibling entirely focussed on embarrassing their brothers as much as possible. There’s a group chat, which Ben and Jack have no choice but to be part of, and it’s blown up this evening.

Jack gets travel-sick if he looks at his phone too much on the bus, so Ben will have to read it out to him.

“Woah.” That’s a lot of messages.

That’s a lot of messages about the game, which the girls must have been following on Twitter and Facebook, and then above that there are a whole load of messages that are distinctly girl-chat in nature. Ben clocks a reference to makeup, something about Channing Tatum, and then pauses when he gets to where two of Jack’s sisters are complaining about period pain.

They normally keep the really girly stuff out of this chat, he knows they’ve got another one for stuff they don’t want Ben and Jack to know.

He’s seen this technique before. If they fill the chat with enough messages about stuff that the guys don’t want to read, the girls think that will stop them from scrolling back any further.

That only works on Jack, though. Ben scrolls up.

“What are they saying?”

“Mostly just talking about the game. Bex is worried about your arm.”

“Text them a photo.” Jack pushes the empty cake wrapper aside and slumps back in the seat. “I’ll look extra pathetic.”

Ben dutifully snaps a picture of Jack doing his best to look like he’s struggling through great pain, and adds it to the chat, before working his way back up to find what the girls don’t want him to see.

He finds it a few lines after the girliest part of the conversation.

**Nikki: Hey, we all still on for next week? Allie and I need a lift from the station.**

**Sam: WRONG CHAT!!!**

The girls go immediately into cover-up mode at that point, so that conversation obviously got transferred to the girls-only chat, but if they’ve got something to hide it’s not difficult to figure it out.

The only question now is whether Ben should warn Jack that their sisters are going to surprise them at the game on Sunday night.

“Any other gossip?” Jack yawns as he speaks.

“Not really.” Ben scrolls back to the latest messages. “Bex and Allie both sent sad faces, and Allie sent you a heart. Laura says you need to suck it up.”

“Bad sister.” Jack settles the ice pack into a more comfortable position against his arm. “Trade you for one of yours.”

“Which one do you want?”

“Frankie.” There’s no hesitation to Jack’s answer. To be fair, this isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation.

Ben pulls a face. “I like Frankie. You can have Debs?”

“Um. Maybe. Can we do some kind of time-share?”

Ben laughs, and lets the conversation drift closed. Jack’s already starting to slump sideways, because he falls asleep easily on the bus at the best of times, and even if he’s playing up the injury to make the guys laugh at him for faking, his face is tight and it must be pretty painful.

“Do you want some ibuprofen or anything?”

Jack shakes his head. “Took some before we left.”

“Okay.” Ben makes sure that he’s got his earphones out of his bag, then shuffles across the seat towards Jack.

Jack settles in against his shoulder almost immediately, and by the time Ben’s untangled the cable, plugged his earphones in and picked a playlist on Spotify, Jack’s asleep.

Ben looks down the bus as he puts in one earbud, on the side furthest from Jack, and catches Scott giving them a worried-dad look from down the aisle.

Ben glances down at Jack to make sure he’s really asleep, then flashes Scott a thumbs-up. Scott nods at him and turns to face the front, and Ben closes his eyes and lets his head rest against Jack’s.

 


	37. Monday - Jonny

Jonny's phone battery died during the game last night, and since his charger’s at college and Amelia’s got hers hidden in her room, he had to set his old Star Wars alarm clock and hope for the best.

Obi-Wan Kenobi wakes him up in time for Politics, but he can't do anything about Jonny's battery so Jonny has to wait until after class to fetch his charger from his locker and get at the plug sockets in the sixth form common room.

The notifications on the _Goalie Gossip_ chat go nuts as soon as his phone connects to the network, and he fumbles it onto silent.

 

**Cant-defeat-the-pete - @Jackyboy how’s Karl today?**

**Cant-defeat-the-pete - @Jackyboy nobody could tell us anything**

**Coop - what happened?**

**Coop - guys?**

**Cant-defeat-the-pete -** **_sent a picture_ **

**__ **

**Cant-defeat-the-pete - Karl looked rough as balls during the 1st and then didnt come back on. Didnt see him after and someone said there was an ambulance out back**

The screencap of last night’s game sheet that Pete’s sent through is enough to tell any of the guys on the chat that something wasn’t right. You don’t swap a guy like Psycho Karl for the back-up during playoffs. Jack’s a nice guy but he’s not on the same level as Karl on the ice, if he had to play then something was definitely wrong.

**AddyW - Ambulance? Sounds serious! Was that def 4 Karl?**

**Cant-defeat-the-pete - think so. Some of the fans on Facebook are saying it was, and one of the guys at the rink said it was an away person**

**Cant-defeat-the-pete - @Jackyboy TALK TO US JACK**

These are all timed from earlier this morning, and nobody’s said anything for a while. Jonny taps out a response.

**JC30 - Any news?**

**Cant-defeat-the-pete - Jon says that the ambulance was for Karl**

It takes Jonny a minute to remember that Jon is the Saxons’ coach. He’d probably get updates on a player from the other team who’d been hospitalised during a game, especially one who’d become ill on the Saxons’ home ice.

**JC30 - Any idea what it was?**

**Cant-defeat-the-pete - No. He did look really rough, though, kind of grey**

**Jackyboy - Hey guys**

**Cant-defeat-the-pete - JACK**

**Jackyboy - do you want the full story or the basics?**

**Cant-defeat-the-pete - basics**

**JC30 - full story**

**Damo - full story, I just got here #lunchtime #earlyshift**

**Cant-defeat-the-pete - #loser #hashtag**

**AddyW - tell us what happened!!**

**Jackyboy  - ok so Karl was feeling kind of shit when we got on the bus yesterday, and he looked rough but he kept saying he was fine, and you know, it’s playoffs, what are they going to do, sit him because he’s got a bit of a dodgy stomach?**

**AddyW - hangover?**

**Cant-defeat-the-pete - he did not look hungover**

**Jackyboy - he’s way too professional for that Addy and so’s everybody else**

**AddyW - sorry, bad timing**

**Jackyboy - ANYWAY he did warm up and then he disappeared into the toilet for most of the bit between warm up and the first and I think he was sick? We were all kind of worried. Then he did the first but he was obviously not right, neither of those goals should have gone in**

**Cant-defeat-the-pete - hey!**

**Cant-defeat-the-pete - no, that’s fair**

**Jackyboy - he was moving weird and he said before that his stomach really hurt. Then at the end of the first Jon asked him what was going on and he said it was getting worse and then Roxie took Karl aside to talk to him**

**Damo - Roxie?**

**Cant-defeat-the-pete - she’s their medic keep up Damo. Tiny, blonde, kind of hot but also super scary?**

**Damo - gotcha**

**Jackyboy - and next thing we know Roxie’s asking for an ambulance to be called and Jon’s telling me to warm up, and while we were on the ice for the second the paramedics showed up, and basically his appendix had to come out**

**Jackyboy - and I’m telling her you said that**

**AddyW - appendicitis? wow**

**JC30 - fuck!**

**Cant-defeat-the-pete - fuck. That’s gonna take a few weeks to come back from**

**Jackyboy - yeah. And it’s not like we can bring somebody else in for playoffs. We’ve got Toby from the U20s on the bench but I’m going to have to play the rest of it**

**Damo - You can do it**

**Damo - I’m allowed to cheer for you since we’re out**

**Damo - me and Billy**

**Damo - Billy we know your there the read receipts are on**

Billy’s been backing up Gav Stone and the Cobras since about Christmas. Damo or Addy’s added him to the group chat, but he says about as much on chat as he does in person, which is pretty much nothing. He’s not moody like Ross, just shy. Or terrified. Jonny’s not sure.

**Billy - hi**

**Billy - sucks for Karl but you can do it**

**Jackyboy - didn’t do it last night did I?**

Jonny scrolls back up to check the boxscore

**JC30 - 2 goals on 17 shots isn’t bad**

88%. It’s not _great_ , though.

**Jackyboy - the boys stepped it up for me, but we’ve got three games to go and we have to play the Tornadoes and Pumas**

**Damo - @AddyW tell your boys to go easy?**

**AddyW - not a chance! Sorry Jack but we need the W**

**Jackyboy - I mean I want to play of course I do but it’s a lot of pressure and I don’t like Karl being ill**

**Cant-defeat-the-pete - sure. We all get that. Nobody wants the other guy hurt**

**Damo - did it last year, not fun**

**AddyW - except Jonny**

**AddyW - Jonny probably wouldn’t mind if Prince got hurt**

**JC30 - hey!**

Yeah, okay, maybe he doesn’t _like_ Ross very much, but that’s not the point. It’s still team, and he’s not going to tell the other guys that he’d be quite happy to step up and play.

**Damo - ur probly closer 2 a tandem than the rest of us anyway**

**Damo - except the Tornadoes but they don’t count**

The Tornadoes don’t count because nobody’s been brave enough to invite Forsythe into the group chat.

It is true, though, that Jonny’s probably better placed to cover for Ross than Jack is for Karl, or Addy for Chris. Will Gibson could handle covering for Nick, like Pete could step up behind Rijkert or Coop for Lucas, but the gap between Ross and Jonny’s smaller than most of the other teams.

**Coop - Just caught up! That’s crap, Jack. Good luck, tho.**

**AddyW - Can you say that, if you’re still playing?**

**Coop - course I can, he’s in the other group. I only have to beat Jonny out of you lot at the moment. I can cheer for Jack unless we both go through to the semis**

**Jackyboy - I don’t feel too sure about getting there**

**JC30 - too early to call it yet**

That’s important to remember. Right now, the Huskies are third in their group but there’s only two points between the top and bottom of the table and they’ve got three more games to play. Literally anybody could still finish in the top two and go through to the semi finals.

**Jackyboy - do you reckon they’d let Addy and Pete play the games against me? Even the field a bit?**

**AddyW - haha no chance**

**Cant-defeat-the-pete - don’t think so bud**

**Jackyboy - I’ll see you in the bar at the semis then, @Damo and @Billy**

**Damo - none of that quitting talk from you!**

 

“Everything okay?” Callum’s standing by Jonny’s chair when he looks up from his phone. Jonny’s been so absorbed that he hadn’t noticed him come in.

“Psycho Karl got rushed into hospital during the second last night.”

Callum’s expression is gratifyingly shocked. Jonny appreciates the drama.

“What happened?”

“Appendicitis! That’s his season done.”

“Wow.” Callum shakes his head as he sits down. “I mean, sucks for him, but I guess that means the Eagles are probably out?”

Jonny shrugs. “Three games to go. Anything could happen.”

“But with Jack in the net?” Callum pulls a face. “I don’t fancy their chances.”

Jonny agrees, although he’s torn between loyalty to his friend and his team.

“They’ve got a tough group.” The Saxons should be the weakest team, and they got the win with last night’s advantage. The Pumas have been on form all season, and the Tornadoes are on a bit of a hot streak. It would have been a tough call with Mkrtschjan in the net, it’s a big ask for Jack.

“Have you told the others?” Callum’s already got his phone out and Jonny would put money on it being Tiny that he’s texting.

“No, only just found out myself.”

“Devon’s around somewhere.” Callum’s looking down at his phone, thumbs flying over the keyboard. “I just saw him coming out of the science block. How do you spell Mkrtschjan?”

“P-s-y-c-h-o-k-a-r-l”

Callum shoots him an unimpressed look. “Thanks.”

Jonny shrugs. “Nobody can spell his actual name.”

Callum’s phone rings, and he answers immediately.

“Hi. Yeah, Jonny just told me. I don’t know, goalies just know stuff?” He grins at Jonny. “Yeah. Yeah. No...Saxons?” He glances up to check and Jonny nods. “Yeah, the Saxons. Away. Uh-huh.”

“I’ll see you in Econ if I don’t catch you over lunch.” Jonny interrupts, and Callum nods. Jonny unplugs his charger - battery now up to 65%, that’ll do - and goes to track down Devon.


	38. Tuesday - Scott

The alarm goes off at six, just like it does every weekday, and Felicity fumbles for her phone, muttering something impolite into her pillow before pulling herself out of bed and heading for their bathroom.

Scott’s got the day off. He doesn’t need to get up.

He gets up anyway. He’ll nap later, once the family’s up and running.

 

The shower starts up in the ensuite - the second bathroom is a luxury they got used to very quickly after moving into the gatehouse - and Scott stumbles downstairs to put the kettle on.

The downstairs toilet is another feature he wouldn’t want to be without any more.

He puts the cereal boxes, bowls, spoons, glasses, milk and juice out on the table while the tea’s steeping, and then looks in the fridge for the milk to finish making the tea even though he’s _just_ put it on the table and he does this every morning.

Mornings are not Scott’s strongest point. They’re not Felicity’s either, but they make it work.

 

“This summer,” Scott sets the tea down on top of the chest of drawers in their bedroom. “We’re going to con one of our families into taking all of our children for a week, and we’re going to make no plans for the weekends, and we’re going to have a _lie in_.”

Felicity’s looking more awake after her shower, as she moves around the room collecting her clothes for the day.

“Let’s con both of our families and get two weeks out of it.”

“That’s why I married you. You’re smart.” Scott steals a kiss as she passes, and then takes his tea through to the bathroom so he can have his own shower.

At least during playoffs it doesn’t matter that Felicity’s steamed all the mirrors up and he can’t see to shave.

 

Jamie looked kind of put-out when Scott had suggested that he could take over the school run on the days he wasn’t at work, so Scott had demurred and let the responsibility for his children sit with their surrogate older brother.

It’s not like he’s desperate to sit in the school run traffic, and if Jamie wants to stick to routine then Scott’s not going to argue with him.

This is Jamie’s first playoffs. Scott’s been here before, when he played for the Cobras, and he’s been doing this long enough to be confident that the scores won’t be affected by whether he has cornflakes or weetabix this morning. Some of the younger guys seem to be a bit more stressed about routine and superstition, however, and Scott won’t get in the way of that. It’s not going to change the results whether Jamie takes the kids to school or Scott does, but it might change how confident Jamie feels about the games - and that _can_ change the result, so Scott’s just going to step back and let him get on with it.

 

First, though, he has to referee breakfast.

 

*

 

It’s not often that Scott gets the house to himself. Normally he saves his annual leave days for the family’s summer holiday, and so that he and Felicity can cover the days when the kids don’t have school without having to pay for extra childcare.

He’s done okay this year, though. Ever since they moved into the gatehouse, they’ve had endless babysitters on tap and both the October and February half-terms were completely covered by the schedule that somebody drew up. Scott suspects that Jamie was the one who created the spreadsheet and loaded in all of the school holidays and inset days, but there’s a big print-out on the noticeboard by the gym and a lot of the guys have signed up to spend time with Scott’s kids.

It’s almost enough to make a bloke feel a bit emotional.

Scott did have to double-check the bits that Tiny was down for, because he recognises Maisie’s handwriting when he sees it, but Tiny was apparently fully aware that he was supposed to be in charge on those afternoons.

 

Scott takes the inset days off anyway, because he likes his traditions with his kids. It’s hard to know where to set the line between letting his kids enjoy hanging out with the team - the twins have always loved it, and he found Maisie taking shots on Jonny in the ballroom last week with impressive accuracy - and making sure that they know he’s still interested and wants to be in the fun parts of their lives.

Maisie was making enthusiastic if slightly unrealistic plans for their day out together without actually checking that he was going to be the one to spend the time with her, though, so he’s obviously not doing too badly if their traditions are still established. He’d talked her down to spending the day at the Waterfowl Sanctuary, which had been a roaring success even if she is still begging for a rabbit a month later.

That’s a conversation he and Felicity need to have after playoffs, maybe.

 

The house feels different, with nobody else in it, as Scott wanders from room to room corralling the mess that follows the Howard family hurricane. The dishwasher’s humming away in the kitchen, and Scott wipes down the table to catch the last of the scattered Cheerios. The washing machine’s stopped, out in the utility room, so he shifts the load of towels into the drier and sets it going, straightening two pairs of muddy trainers against the wall.

The hockey jerseys hanging on the airer are dry, so Scott takes them upstairs. The twins’ bedroom is tidy, mostly because Felicity threatened to stop them coming to the game tomorrow if it wasn’t spotless, and Scott opens drawers until he can figure out where each of the boys’ jerseys should go.

Maisie’s bedroom is less tidy, although nowhere near the state that Lewis and Toby’s room had been in on Sunday, and Scott has a quick tidy up to prevent any arguments later about how it’s not _fair_ that Maisie doesn’t have to tidy _her_ room in order to go to the game.

They’re all going to get sent to bed early because it’ll be a late one for them tomorrow, and nobody ever really cooperates with that so it’s best to stave off any fights he can see coming. Maisie’s room’s not that bad, really, she hasn’t got to the stage of squirreling biscuits and glasses of juice away upstairs or taking a fresh towel every morning and leaving it in a damp heap on her bedroom carpet until the supplies run out.

Scott gathers the scattering of hair elastics that seem to be everywhere he goes, and dumps them into the little tray on her vanity that’s intended for that exact purpose. He makes the bed and picks up the drift of paper from where she was colouring, rescuing the glitter gel pens that are supposed to be in the kitchen for use on the family calendar.

 **Need a new hiding place for the sparkly pens,** he texts to Felicity. **M found them again.**

Felicity’s at work, so she doesn’t text back, but Scott’s sure she’ll come up with somewhere new to keep them.

It’s become something of a game, putting the pens that Maisie covets in new places and seeing how long it takes her to find them and “borrow” them. They could get her some of her own, of course, or get some less enticing pens to keep by the calendar, but it’s been keeping them both entertained for months.

They don’t get out much, with three kids.

 

It’s made a big difference, living in the gatehouse, and not just because of the on-tap babysitting. It’s the first time for years that they’ve had enough space and not felt like they’re crammed in on top of one another. It’s the first time for years that they’ve been able to breath financially, with Felicity’s increased salary and the much lower rent, and their savings are growing again so that the idea of actually buying a house when Scott retires from hockey doesn’t see quite so crazy any more.

Retirement’s not so distant now, either.

He’s never wanted to give up hockey, but the start of this season when Felicity got her promotion was the first time he’s had to seriously consider it. Even if it didn’t happen back in the autumn, having to think about it has brought home that he _is_ going to retire from hockey one day and it’s not going to be the end of the world.

He’s also made up his mind that he’s going to retire as a Husky. There’s only one more year before they can’t uproot the boys any more, as they’ll have to start making decisions about GCSEs and it’s not fair to make them move schools when that starts unless there’s a really good reason.

With the security of Felicity’s job, _Dad wants to play hockey_ isn’t a good reason to disrupt their education.

And then once the boys get through their exams, Maisie will be starting that part of her school life, and they’ll be staying put for her too. Felicity’s job is convenient from here, Scott can get into the office easily enough, and they like it here. They’ve got friends here, not just the team but people they know through the kids’ schools and clubs, the people Felicity goes running with.

 

There haven’t been any official meetings about next year, but Max keeps talking like they’re just going to carry on, and Scott reckons that he’ll keep re-signing as long as they’ll take him.

His left knee aches in the mornings, and he’s not as fast as he was. Hockey’s not going to last forever.

But while it does, Scott wants to play here in red and white.


	39. Wednesday - Devon

_Huskies v Scorpions_

 

The older guys keep saying that anything can happen, in playoffs, and so far it looks like they’re right. The Huskies are currently in the bottom half of their group, but the Scorpions are actually below them on goal difference and they won the league this year.

Now the Eagles are playing with their back-up netminder because Psycho Karl’s in hospital, so that’s going to affect the scores in the other group.

The Huskies are only two points behind the top of their group, and with three games still to go anything really is possible.

They’re not out yet, that’s for sure.

 

Devon doesn’t have classes on Wednesday afternoons, so he doesn’t have to skip class or try to focus on European History when his head’s already out on the ice.

Jonny and Callum don’t have classes either. None of the sixth form do, apparently it’s some sort of tradition in England, like everybody gets Wednesday afternoons off for sports or extracurricular clubs. Nobody at their school seems to play sports, at least not for the school, but nobody thinks it’s weird not to have classes that one afternoon a week so Devon just rolls with it.

It’s convenient for him, anyway. Normally he uses it to get his homework done so he can focus on training.

Devon’s just got Spanish this morning, but Jonny and Callum have got Economics so Jonny’s going to give him a lift up to the Hall for lunch. William’s rules on pre-home-game lunch are relaxed for mid-week games because some of the guys have jobs that mean they can’t just come home in the middle of the day, but everybody who can make it is expected to be there.

 

Rachel and Lisa just _happen_ to be hanging around by Devon’s locker after his class, which he’s sure has _nothing_ to do with the way that Rachel gets silly and giggly whenever Callum comes over to talk to him when they’re there.

Callum’s completely oblivious, of course, because he’s got no game at all, but Jonny thinks it’s hilarious.

Devon still can’t work out whether Jonny’s got a girlfriend or not. He sees him around sometimes looking _real friendly_ with a girl, but Devon’s pretty sure that it’s not always the same girl. He hasn’t seen anything for a few weeks, anyway, and it seems a bit rude to just flat-out ask.

“Got your tickets for tonight?”

“Yup.” Lisa fiddles with her phone as if she’s going to show him the booking email or something. He believes her, he doesn’t need proof.

Devon swaps the books in his bag for the reading he really needs to get done for his History essay and closes his locker. “I’ve got to get going. You walking out?”

Of course they are, that’s why they’re waiting for him, but he’ll play along and pretend he doesn’t know that.

 

“You know, when you first joined the team I did not have you down as a ladykiller.” Jonny pulls out of the parking lot into a gap in the traffic that’s possibly a little bit smaller than Devon would have liked.

“What?”

“You were kind of shy with the team, but it’s like every time I see you at college there are girls everywhere.”

“We’re just friends!” Devon tries not to protest too hard or Jonny’s going to assume he’s lying. He’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to tell the guys that Rachel’s got a bit of a crush on Callum.

Pretty sure. He’ll have to check with Lisa. Maybe he’s supposed to be trying to set them up and he just hasn’t realised.

Callum went kind of pink when the girls said hi to him, but Devon’s really not sure if that’s because he likes one of them or if it was just a _girls! panic!!_ sort of thing. Either way, it distracted him long enough for Devon to call shotgun.

Devon knows that Callum didn’t like him when he first joined the team. That’s understandable, Devon was obviously after his spot on the third line even if there was room for them both on the team. With all the ups and downs they’ve had this year, though, with Snapper coming in and then Callum’s grandad passing away, they’ve settled into kind of being friends. Sometimes they both play on Mark’s wings. Sometimes one of them has to stay on the bench. Generally, Callum gets more minutes than Devon, but Devon’s mostly okay with it.

He still has to pinch himself, sometimes, that his friends back home are still playing for the school team and he’s playing pro hockey in the second tier.

Okay, so it’s hardly the AHL, but it still sounds kind of impressive.

 

It’s going to be another tough game tonight. The Scorpions can’t be happy about being at the bottom of the group, and the only game they’ve won so far in this round is the game against the Huskies last week, so they’re going to show up tonight looking to bolster their points and get back on track for the top-of-group finish they were expecting.

The Huskies really need this win too, though. They’ve got a win under their belts but that was against the Blizzard, and playing at home against the Blizzard should on paper have been their easiest game of the series anyway.

Nobody wants to go out now. Nobody’s sitting here thinking that at least they got further than they’ve been in more years than anybody wants to count. Nobody thinks that the quarter finals are _good enough_. It doesn’t matter whether it’s the guys who’ve been here for years or the guys like Devon who are brand new this season, they all want to go all the way to the top.

Devon’s still playing for college applications, but even without that he still wants to win for his team.

 

*

 

He gets his first shift towards the end of the first period. Max tends to run all three lines even against tough opponents, part of the legacy of not having enough players to do anything else in the past, but Devon won’t be sent out against the Scorpions’ top line.

The Piranhas or the Cobras, maybe, back in the regular season, but not these guys and not now.

They’re 2-1 up, though, after a beauty from Vince and a _how-the-fuck-did-that-go-in_ from Ifan, the Scorpions have got their third line out and Devon’s going over the boards. He doesn’t need to look up towards the platform to know that there’s a camera on him - the students have been really cool about helping him build up footage to use in his college applications. There’s no way any kind of a scout’s going to just happen to be here, so he’ll have to be proactive and show them how good he can be.

This shift is one for the package, too.

He doesn’t know the players on other teams like the rest of the guys seem to, they all came up through the same juniors system and they’ve been playing each other for years, it seems, and then they all switch teams all the time and everybody knows someone who used to play with whoever. The guys on the Scorpions’ third line are just surnames and jersey numbers, to Devon, but he doesn’t need to know when their birthdays are or what their cats are called in order to play against them.

It’s Vesey, Chan and Milbrook on the ice right now, Milbrook facing off against Mark, Vesey shouldering up close to Devon until the linesman tells him to back off. Chan’s the one to watch on this line, he’s fast, one of the young guys who’s going to go on and get better and better while people like Milbrook stay here and anchor the bottom.

Mark wins the faceoff, and the puck goes back to Tucker. Devon’s already moving as soon as he can see that Tucker’s going to have the puck, skating hard to get up the ice. Mark’s there with him, splitting the Scorpions’ D, and Snapper’s taking the pass from Tucker, flying up the wing while they ease off by the blue line to avoid an offside call.

Snapper passes to Mark and Mark carries the puck in. Snapper’s the bigger guy, the more experienced player, the one who’s supposed to be more dangerous, so it’s natural for the Scorpions’ defense to be paying slightly more attention to him as Mark drops the puck back to Fish and keeps heading for the net. It looks obvious, that Fish will pass back to Mark and Mark’s going to try to chip it in, so the Scorpions are moving to block his lanes just as Fish and Tucker pull off one of their high-speed, no-look, two-guys-one-brain plays and the puck goes Fish-Tucks-Devon-net before anybody can change direction.

Devon throws both arms up in the air and yells as Fish, Tucks and the rest of his line crash into him.

Even Callum grins as he bumps their shoulders together, back on the bench. “Nice one.”

Devon looks up at the scoreboard. 3-1 Huskies, two minutes left in the first. If they keep playing like this, they might actually win.


	40. Thursday - Tiny

George lowers his weights when he hits the gym, although he keeps his reps the same. It’s the middle of the morning, nobody else is in here, and it’s not like they’d realise anyway even if there was somebody else working out, but it still feels a bit like cheating.

He’s not taking it easy, but he’s not pushing himself as hard as he might do on other days. Three games a week, three training sessions and one night off, plus he forgot to book any time off from work and so he’s still in the garage three days a week as well.

He’s tired, he aches, and he’s not playing nearly as many minutes as the other defensemen.

They got lucky, with the way the league table ended and decided the playoff groups. If they were playing in the other group, they’d be up against the Saxons, maybe, or the Eagles, and there would be a lot more for George to do.

Not that Mike would want to fight him, but his guys are used to the security of an established enforcer. People don’t start things if they might have to go up against _Kirkman_ , he knows that in the same way that people don’t want to go up against _Mason._ His reputation’s good for that, even if sometimes he feels like _Mason_ and _George_ are completely different people. Anyway, the guys on the Saxons know that they can play physical when they need to because Mike’s there to bail them out if they start something they can’t finish, and it’s easy for them to forget in the heat of playoffs that the Huskies bring their own enforcer and George would end up having to throw his weight around.

The Eagles are just a bit crazy, and with Mk-however-you-say-it laid up after an operation, they’ve got to fight for their place. From the look of last night’s game sheet, they’re taking that literally. Not that it did them any good.

George has got a massive bruise on his thigh from a shot he blocked last night. He didn't have to fight, just loomed a bit when Jamie Lewis got too close to Devon on the line change after the third goal. George likes looming, he's good at it, and it helps that nobody really wants to fight him, especially in playoffs. He’s fought each of the Lewis brothers a couple of times and beat them convincingly, and Jamie won't go if he can help it. Knowing that makes looming more fun.

Fish’s arm is a mess of green and yellow as the bruising from Sunday’s game develops. Scott’s limping a little bit when he stands up after sitting still for too long. Ifan fell asleep in the armchair after dinner on Tuesday and nobody chirped him about being old. To be fair, he does get up at the arse crack of dawn every morning and he might work with flowers but he still has to stand up all day.

Petr’s got some weird marks on his shoulder but apparently that’s just because he’s got back together with his ex and has nothing to do with hockey.

George finishes his cardio at a slightly lower resistance than normal.

 

He showers upstairs, because like the rest of the guys who live in he can't see the point of lugging a towel and a change of clothes down to the showers by the gym.

His shampoo bottle makes a sad farting noise when he squeezes it, so he tosses it in the general direction of the bin and uses Callum's instead. Callum won't say anything. It's not like George hasn't noticed that there's only one tube of toothpaste by the sink.

 

He's got a missed call from Em when he checks his phone, and a text message.

**Just ringing for a chat let me know when you're free x**

George checks the time. Em’s probably on her lunch break. He sits on the bed and calls her back.

“Hi G.” She answers right away. “Didn't wake you up, did I?”

It's quarter past twelve.

“Ha ha. I was in the gym.”

“I know how you like to slack on your days off.”

George takes a slow steady breath and doesn't rise to the bait. He won't win against Em on the phone, she's better with words than he is. He prefers to tease her when they're in the same room and he can sit on her if she gets too clever for him.

“That's me. I'm the lazy one.”

Em laughs. “Speaking of lazy, I was wondering when you're coming home for your extended summer break.”

“Not yet!” He can't help the grin on his face. They're in the _playoffs._ He flops back onto the mattress, sideways across the bed, and rolls onto his stomach.

“I know that!” Em must be able to hear his smile. “Mum’s looking at holidays and wants to know when you're around and if you're coming with us.”

“I'll phone her tonight.” George looks forward to their family holidays. They couldn't afford them when he was a kid, but since he and Em have been working and not costing Mum money all the time they've been going away most years, just in the UK, somewhere wheelchair friendly. Em and George each take one night where one of them takes Mum out and the other one hangs out with Sadie. It's pretty low-key but it's fun.

“When do you have to be out of your housing?”

It's a fair question. Team housing’s usually only paid until some point in April and then George has to pack up and go back to the back bedroom at Mum’s.

“Um. I don't think I do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Some of the guys are staying on.” Callum and Jamie at least. The guys who don't have anywhere else to go. “Leah says that we can all stay to the end of August even if we don't re-sign.”

“You're going to re-sign, though?”

George shrugs and then remembers that Em can't see him.

“Nothing's official for next season yet.”

“...but…” George can picture the look on her face as she picks out the relevant points. “Are you saying that you’re not coming home this summer?”

“I’ll come for a bit.” George reassures her. “I’ll come on holiday and I’ll probably come and stay for weekends. But I’m 24, it’s probably time for me to leave home.”

“You’re my baby brother and you’re supposed to stay where I put you.”

He laughs. “Yeah, ‘cause that ever happened.”

There’s a story Mum likes to tell about when they were little and Em was supposed to be keeping an eye on him in a department store, when George had wandered off and it had taken them half an hour to find him. Em had been a hysterical mess by the time security found him playing in a display of camping equipment, but George had apparently not been in the least bit upset and hadn’t actually realised he was lost. Mum tells the story with a long-suffering air, because it wasn’t the first time he’d gone missing, it wouldn’t be the last, and the years since it happened have toned down the worry she must have felt.

“Well then, if I tell you to stay where you are, will you come home?”

“If I stay here I can keep my job, I can get extra hours to cover when the others are on holiday.”

Em sniffs dramatically. “I can’t believe my baby brother’s all grown up!”

“I’ve been all grown up for years, Em.”

“Too much growing, that’s your problem.”

“It’s not my fault that you’re short.”

“I’m five eight.”

“Exactly. You’re a short-arse.”

“You’re a giraffe.”

“Actually, I think you’ll find that most giraffes are closer to eighteen feet tall.”

“Oh, don’t you dare start that again!”

“And giraffes tend to sleep for less than two hours a day.”

Em had annoyed him so much with her giraffe comments when he hit his growth spurt that he’d looked up and learnt a whole load of random things about them. He’s been churning the same facts out whenever she calls him a giraffe for at least six years now.

“Oh, well, that’s definitely not you then!”

“Which is my point!”

They’re both laughing now, and George rolls onto his back, letting his head drop down over the edge of the mattress.

Em stops laughing. “Don’t be lonely, though, if that big house gets empty.”

“I won’t be. Callum’s going to be here.”

“Oh, _Callum’s_ going to be there. You know you have two actual siblings, right, who are actually related to you? You don’t need to adopt another one?”

“Jealous much?”

There’s a little pause before Em answers. “No. Not really. He’s a nice kid.”

Callum had been really nervous about meeting George’s sister, for some reason, when she came up to visit a few weeks ago. Em lasted about fifteen minutes before she apparently decided that George’s rookie was her rookie and started to treat him exactly like she does George.

“You could always ask Mum if you can bring a friend to stay, on some of your weekend visits.”

“Yeah.” George hadn’t thought of that. “Yeah, I guess I could.”


	41. Friday - Max

Max honestly thinks that he would have gone mad without Andi, this season. She’s been an absolute rock whenever he needed her.

The new living arrangements are great, for the team as a whole, a million times better than anything they've ever had before, but it's been hard to live and work in one place with all of the guys he has to manage. He has to be able to yell at them when they don't pull their weight on the ice and then sit across the table from them at breakfast, and sometimes a little bit more space is necessary. He's spent more and more nights at Andi’s place as the season's gone on, and her little jokes about him paying rent are getting a bit pointed.

He envies Leah and Stan the ability to retreat across the courtyard to the privacy of their own flats, and if Andi’s still up for it he'd love to move in with her next year.

That's not just for the privacy from the team, of course. He does actually  _ want _ to live with her.

He just hopes that she gets that, and that his complaints about having the guys on top of him don't make her think that she's just his best option for a little bit of distance.

 

He's been talking to Leah about getting an office, at least. There are still rooms at the Hall that haven't been converted since the evolution from residential conference centre to successful hockey experiment, and he'd like to have a little room where he can shut himself away and make difficult decisions and awkward phone calls in privacy. Giving up the windowless office at the rink was a no-brainer, after years of falling over boxes of ice dancing props that shouldn't have been in there anyway, but he's got negotiations to carry out for next season's roster and he can't do that where Fisher, Tucks and Jamie might walk in on him.

Leah was showing a guy around last week, and Max thought he recognised him from the work that was done last summer to convert the stables into flats. Leah had been pointing at things while the guy scribbled frantically in a large leather-bound notebook, so that looks promising at least.

 

Max should be thinking about strategies and focusing on the next two games while he's pedalling away in the gym, but his mind keeps drifting to contract negotiations and how many of the current guys he wants to or thinks he can re-sign for next year. 

He’s sure that William's going to get offers from other teams. Max is well aware that he turned down other options to stay with the Huskies, and hopefully with the new security of a committed owner and a much more successful season under their belts Max will be able to offer William a contract that recognises how valuable he is.

A few of the others are likely to be approached as well, Vince, Jan, Petr, maybe Ifan. Jan will hopefully want to stay here to be as near as possible to Soňa. Ifan’s been on the team for longer than most of the guys, and Petr seems to like it here. If Max can persuade Vince to re-sign as well, that’s his top line back and two thirds of the second.

This time last year he would have expected Jamie to jump at an offer from anywhere else, but now that there’s a package including the office work and the year-round accommodation, the Huskies could well be the most tempting prospect. Max overheard Jamie talking about sales strategies for next season’s sponsorship packages, which suggests that he’s expecting to be around.

Mark’s probably not going to get an offer that beats what the Huskies can give him, not this summer at least. He’s a solid third-line centre but there are a lot of those in the league and the other teams won’t be blowing his phone up.

 

Max experiences the same stab of envy every year for coaches in other leagues around the world who have guys tied into multi-season contracts and don’t have to face the possibility of rebuilding from scratch every summer.

Devon’s still going to be here next year, as his dad’s placement at the university continues, and Max is going to offer Callum another contract too. Callum’s already said that he’s going to drop his UCAS application this year, not even think about going to university this September and try again next year when he’s got his grades and has a better idea what he wants to do. It’s not exactly a secret that he chose his A level subjects under pressure from his family, and with everything that’s happened this year he might not get the grades he needs. Privately, Max thinks it will be good for Callum to have some time to think and to make a decision about his future that’s just for him and not for his dad or his aunts. Max is going to have to keep an eye out to make sure he doesn’t put his hockey career ahead of an education, but there’s the very real point to consider that Callum just doesn’t enjoy studying and that an academic path might not be right for him. Oddly enough, Max reckons that Tiny will be a good influence. He’s got a physical job with no qualifications, and whilst he’s a good example of hard work paying off he’s also going to want Callum to do the best he can for himself and he won't let Callum throw away opportunities that he didn't have himself.

Max really feels for these kids, Callum who’s getting better support from the enforcer than from his parent, Jamie who’s pretty much been told to his face that they don’t want him at home. It's something of a relief that Leah's stated flat out that the Hall is here all year and nobody has to leave for the summer unless they want to. She's based the cut off date on the point when anybody not re-signing can expect to have access to their new team’s housing, and it makes a nice change not to have to worry about anybody during the off season.

This job was supposed to be Coach and Director of Hockey, not Surrogate Parent. Max prefers to let Leah do the looking after, but she’s the same age as the guys and it’s a lot to ask of her. He knows he’s got a lot to learn from Scott and the likes of Tiny if he’s going to make a long term success of this team-family hybrid they’re building.

Scott’s already made it clear that he wants to stay around, and Max is only too happy to have him. They’re mostly a young team, and the experience of guys like Scott, Ifan and William is really important on the ice and in the locker room - and in the Hall. Tiny’s likely to stay too, most other coaches make the mistake of seeing a two-dimensional pantomime villain, and don’t realise how valuable he can be. Max really wants to keep him, and he’s fairly sure that Tiny will want to stay.

Fish and Tucker will probably come back next season, unless they get a really good offer somewhere else. They’re enjoying the office work and practically joined at the hip, and a good offer to stay with the Huskies and each other will beat a great offer to go somewhere else alone.

He’s not so sure about Ethan, he doesn’t have the history that the others have, or the ties. 

Snapper’s another concern - he’s fitting in much better now and he’s been a great addition on the ice, but they fucked that up early on and Max won’t blame Snapper if he’s gone as soon as their last game is over. He might blame himself, but he won’t blame Snapper.

 

When it comes to the forwards and the defense, Max is confident that he’ll be able to re-sign enough of this year’s team to be able to build on a solid foundation. He’s more concerned about the goalies.

That Ross will want to return is a given - Max is secretly convinced that Ross would still show up to training and games even if they didn't sign him - but he needs to look at options. Ross isn’t the strongest goalie in the league, he’s not particularly close to his teammates, and Max has to have his eyes open for potential upgrades. 

It’s especially important because there’s a very real risk that Jonny’s going to be gone - they won't know until his A level results come out and he confirms his university place whether he's going to be an option or not, but Max knows that Jonny’s first choice isn’t local. It can be tough to find back-ups because they don't want to relocate just to sit on the bench, plus the Junior Huskies program needs a lot of work and at the moment there are no young goalies in their system ready to make this big a jump. At least with the housing situation they've got something to tempt an NIHL goalie with, but Ross needs a strong back-up and Max is only too aware that the guys within the league who might be what they need on the ice wouldn’t fit with Ross in the locker room. Somebody as enthusiastic as Matt Cooper would be too much of a personality clash, but combining introspective Ross with somebody as quiet as Steve Woods would suck the energy out of the room. Not that Woods is prepared to step down to back-up just yet, based on the way he’s been playing recently.

NIHL playoffs don’t start until the EPL post-season is over, and Max can see that he’s going to be dragging William to a lot of games to do some unofficial scouting.

 

They need some more off-ice staff, too. Not having any medical personnel attached to the team is a concern. Stan’s money pays for physio visits when they guys need it, but they don’t have a medic on their bench and that’s kind of scary if Max thinks too hard about it. He’s got plans to talk to Stan and Leah about expanding the staff, and there’s a room by the gym which is currently crammed with unused furniture but that could make a decent treatment room, if that will help tempt somebody onto their team.

 

First, though, Max has got to get this season’s team through the playoffs. They’re in with a fighting chance, still, and the Huskies have never given up even when things looked hopeless so they’re sure as hell not going to give up now.

There are two more games left in this round, and then if all goes well there are the semi finals and the finals next weekend, and Max needs to focus on that.

He can deal with the rest of it later, with the off-season negotiations, the hunt for new players, the important conversations that he wants to have to make sure that Andi’s in his life and he’s in hers, he can worry about all of that once this season is properly over.

Right now, there’s a trophy to fight for.


	42. Saturday - Jan

_ Blizzard v Huskies _

Soňa’s laptop is open on the bed, showing a complicated spreadsheet full of data that for once Jan actually recognises as the results from the quarter-final matches so far.

_ “You know you can just look at this on the internet, right?” _

_ “I know.”  _ Soňa crosses to the bed and pulls the laptop towards her, rucking up the duvet.  _ “But that only tells me what what's already happened.” _

_ “Are you predicting the future then?” _

_ “Just working out the odds. I'm looking at the matches still to come, past results, what results you need…” _

_ “And what do they say? I thought anybody could win?” _

_ “Mathematically, that's definitely true.” _ Soňa shuts the laptop.

_ “And non-mathematically?” _

_ “You know me.”  _ Soňa tucks the computer back into the bag.  _ “I like numbers.” _

And if the real odds show that the Huskies shouldn't be able to make it, she respects his unquantifiable superstitions enough that she'd never say it.

The numbers can tell them who's most likely to win when the Huskies play on Blizzard ice or when the Griffins come to town on Sunday, but nothing's ever certain in hockey until the final buzzer goes. Jan's seen a five goal lead evaporate in eight minutes, and he doesn't ever want to step onto the ice knowing that he's meant to lose.

 

The most important thing to know is that they have two games to play, and they could win those games, and they could go on to the semi finals.

 

They haven’t beaten the Blizzard on their own ice once this season.

 

*

 

The Huskies are at the bottom of the table, even if they’re only two points behind the Blizzard, and the Blizzard crowd’s hyped up for a win against a traditionally easy opponent.

Jan doesn't want to give them that win.

 

Max has sent Snapper out on Jan’s wing opposite Vince, a combination they've been trying in training so that there's something the Blizzard haven't seen before.

Jan wins the faceoff. He taps the puck out, just outside his left skate, right to where Tucker’s coming in for it, and pushes away, forwards and right. Snapper’s up by the blue line to collect Tucker’s pass, and Jan’s just behind him as he crosses the line, as they rush the net, as Snapper feints to the left. Lucas Rhodes follows Snapper's line, one foot stretched back to cover the far post while he tracks Snapper, and Jan scoops up the puck that Snapper's left behind and lifts it neatly over Rhodes’ skate.

28 seconds.

Rhodes is furious.

 

Jan skates to the bench with his usual focus, bumps fists, shouts over his shoulder to Petr's line as he steps off the ice and they swap the lines over even though they've only just started. “And again. Another!” 

Ifan salutes as they pass.

 

*

 

Petr's line doesn't score, and Mark’s line doesn't score, and Jan goes back out with Vince and William on his wings.

Greg Rawlings wins the faceoff, and then Ifan's brother’s got the puck. William chases him down, and Jan's able to intercept the pass, twist and start skating in the right direction with the other Blizzard defenseman on his heels.

Vince is there, ready for his pass, and then when he doesn't have a lane William's ready to one-time the puck into-

Rhodes get a glove to it, freezes the puck.

 

*

 

Jan’s got one knee up on the boards, ready to go as soon as Max gives him the nod. The shift currently on the ice seems to have lasted forever, and Petr needs to come off.

Jan needs to get out there.

 

The guys are battling along the boards on the other side of the ice, and Jamie gets the chance to drop back from the play and skate for the bench. William’s vaulting the boards to take his place as Jonny swings the gate open to let Jamie stride off the ice.

Sam Pearce emerges from the scrabble with possession of the puck, and presses towards the Huskies net with Tucker racing to get ahead of him and Fish trying to cover all the lanes. It’s exactly the kind of breakaway they didn’t want, and then Rob Cunningham powers into the zone and picks up the pass.

Cunningham’s got a powerful shot, when he’s got time to take it, and Jan can see Snapper wince out of the corner of his eye as the puck sails towards the net.

Ross snaps it out of mid-air, sitting down abruptly with the force of the shot in the way that looks utterly ridiculous with tall goalies but somehow neat and deliberate when a guy of Ross’ stature pulls it off.

Pearce comes in a little too close, Fish shoves him back, and then the whistle goes and they finally get to change.

 

*

 

Trent Kelley gets the equalising goal for the Blizzard. Mark’s in the box for tripping, and the Blizzard keep the first penalty kill unit tied up with slick passing, never letting them get possession, until there’s a rush around the back of the net and Kelley manages to wrap it around and poke the puck in under Ross’ blocker.

Ross bats the puck up towards centre ice with more force than necessary. The referee doesn’t react.

 

*

 

They start the second period tied at 1-1, and then they start the third the same way. The Blizzard are clearly getting frustrated that they can’t get past the Huskies again, and Pearce is starting to get chippy.

Max sends Tiny out to glare at him a bit.

 

He sends Petr’s line out with him, swapping Jamie for William. Petr’s line plays better two-way hockey - Jan’s line has the speed and the skill but Petr’s line is a better choice to pair with the least-predictable defenseman.

Max knows what he’s doing. He’s gone out to pair with Tiny himself.

 

The Blizzard adapt their play quickly. They don’t have an enforcer and none of them want to take on Tiny. Pearce is the dog that barks but doesn’t bite.

It puts them off their stride, which was Max’s aim, and when Jay Wilcox gets in Tiny’s way he doesn’t have the same conviction as when he faces Jan. Tiny’s reputation is like having an extra man on the ice sometimes.

It’s not a play that’s actually supposed to get them a goal, the intention is to unsettle the Blizzard, force a line mix-up, and then take advantage on the next shift, but somehow when Dai Evans closes William’s chance at a shot on goal and William passes to Tiny for lack of other options, the other Blizzard defenseman is screening his own goalie and Tiny’s shot just squeaks through. Rhodes gets a pad to it, but Tiny’s right on top of him and stuffs his own rebound into the net.

Rhodes is yelling about interference, but the referee rules it good and Tiny’s being bundled back to the bench before Rhodes can goad him into losing his temper.

“Nice!” Callum shuffles up on the bench to make room, even though Tiny’s supposed to be at the defense end.

“I don’t know how that went in.”

Jan leaves them behind and leads his line out for the faceoff.

 

*

 

Max mixes the lines again for the third, and they go heavy on defensive play, keeping the increasingly desperate Blizzard away from the net until finally Kelley signals for a timeout with five minutes left to play.

“Okay, guys.” Max holds his blank playboard like a prop. “Rhodes is coming off. I want Jan, Vince, William, Scott and Ethan, then Petr, Ifan, me, Tucks and Fish. Do not take any penalties, and keep them away from Ross.”

Jan glances across the huddle of guys to where Ross is passing his water bottle back to Jonny. He’d come in to the bench for the timeout but he’s not listening to tactics, just keeping an ear open in case Max wants to say something direct.

“Alright lads, five to go and we’ve got this. Hold tight.”

 

Jan’s line do their job. Jan wins the faceoff, and they keep the play out of the zone, forcing Rhodes to stay in his net in case they get the rush that they’re looking for.

Cunningham steals the puck and the Blizzard push forwards, but Rawlings gets a step ahead of himself and the linesman calls him offside.

Rhodes was halfway to the bench, and Kelley calls him in for the extra attacker.

Max brings out the second unit.

 

The Blizzard win the faceoff, which is not what Jan wants to see when he’s helpless on the bench, and push into the zone, firing a shot at Ross that could have been the second equaliser if Fish didn’t throw himself bodily in the way.

Vince winces next to Jan. That’s the shoulder that Fish took a shot on last weekend, that’s got to hurt.

It’s got to hurt, but Tucker’s got the puck now, scooping it round behind the net and giving the guys a few precious seconds to get into place before Max swoops past him and they burst out up the ice, puck on Max’s stick. Dai Evans is there, harrying Max and trying to keep him in the zone, but Max squeaks the puck out past him and it’s enough to force the Blizzard to pull back over the blue line to avoid another offside call.

That might be enough, that might be Max’s intention, but Petr gets free, racing Jay Wilcox to the loose puck and smacking at it almost blindly in the second before Wilcox checks him.

It’s not a tidy shot, or a particularly clever one, it’s really just to clear it further from the zone and wipe off a few more seconds before the Blizzard regroup and try again, but it’s a hard shot in the right general direction.

Wilcox’s momentum is aimed at knocking Petr off course and he’s too slow changing direction to have a hope of chasing the puck. Dai Evans is after it, but so’s Ifan, and the brothers must have raced each other on the ice hundreds of times.

Ifan’s two years older, which at their age should give Dai the advantage, but then Ifan’s the forward and Dai the defenseman and either way they’re matched stride for stride as they stretch for the puck.

Dai’s got to get round it, though, to knock it to one side or the other or back behind him, and all Ifan has to do is stop him.

Ifan turns his weight in towards his brother, and uses his outstretched stick to push the puck just that little bit further, direct it into rather than away from the net, and the red light goes on two clear seconds before they both crash into the net and knock it off the pegs.

 

It’s ruled a good goal.

 

*

 

Soňa’s home before him, because the family members got straight into their cars after the game while the guys were showering, and because their vehicles aren’t limited to 60 miles per hour like the bus is.

There’s food in the kitchen for anybody who wants it, so Jan makes himself a sandwich and takes it upstairs.

 

Soňa’s in bed, sitting up against the pillows, and she looks up from her laptop when he comes in.

_ “It’s close.”  _ She tells him, eyes shining with the reflection of the screen and the joy of manipulating numbers.  _ “It’s really close, but if you beat the Griffins tomorrow…” _

_ “If we beat them?” _

_ “You have to.” _ Soňa closes the laptop.  _ “You have to win, and you have to do it in regulation.” _

Jan nods.  _ “Okay. Then that’s what we’ll do.” _


	43. Sunday - Ross

_Huskies v Griffins_

The alarm goes off at eight thirty. Ross gets up and heads for the bathroom, bypassing his razor.

His yoga routine takes twenty eight minutes.

He patters downstairs in his socks for eggs on toast and a cup of tea, then back upstairs to shower.

It’s a home game, so he needs to be up at the Hall by half past twelve ready for lunch.

He takes Scout out for a run.

_  
_

Lunch is usually a rowdy affair. They don’t always sit in the exact same seats, but Ross always puts himself near Jan or Scott. They’ll leave him alone, just as he likes.

Ross works methodically through the food in front of him, passing condiments and the water jug whenever anybody asks and eating until his plate is empty.

After lunch, the guys disperse to get themselves organised, getting their gear together ready to head down to the rink. Ross is already organised, of course, because he had to have his gear together before he left home to come up here for lunch, there’s nothing left to do, so he ends up on dish duty with Devon.

Jonny should be organised too, he’s come from home this morning, there can’t be anything that he has to sort out during the afternoon, but he’s very rarely rota’d to be doing the same thing as Ross.

Ross thinks that might be deliberate on Leah’s part.

It’s not like he _wants_ to be the kind of guy who doesn’t get on with his back-up, but… Jonny’s loud and barges his way into groups like he’s supposed to be there, confident that he’ll be welcome. Jonny collects quieter people in his wake, people like Callum, and doesn’t even notice that he’s doing it.

Ross doesn’t push himself in where he’s not wanted, and he doesn’t want to be collected. He doesn’t want to drift along behind his back-up into social situations where he’s constantly uncomfortable.

He doesn’t want to be behind Jonny in any context. Jonny’s supposed to be behind him. The kid’s a good goalie, he’s got potential, he could take the starter spot, not this year, not next year maybe, but he could, and that’s _Ross’_ spot.

Jonny is his competition, as well as his teammate, and maybe more so because it’s never Ross _and_ Jonny, it’s always Ross _or_ Jonny. Jonny is his competition, his rival, his colleague. He’s not his friend.

_  
_

Ross worked his way up through the junior system with focus and dogged determination, sifting through every piece of advice he was given and taking the good ones to heart. When he finally got his break, when the Huskies needed a back-up and Ross was all they could get, he doubled his focus and absorbed everything the starter could teach him.

Douglas Palmer was already heading for the end of his career when Ross joined the team, and he wasn’t threatened by a kid fresh from juniors, so he was happy to share his wisdom and Ross was eager to learn. He played in Doug’s shadow for four seasons, until he was getting a third of the starts and Doug was laughing that Ross was going to take his job.

He was getting better and better as a player, and he didn’t see at the time that he was being given the starts as much because of Doug’s health as because of his own skills.

Doug kept his health worries away from the team for as long as he could, away from Ross, until the 2012-13 playoffs started without them once more and Doug took Ross down to the _Rose and Thorns_ and told him that he wasn’t going to play any more.

“Don’t let them retire my number.”

Ross blinked at him. “You can tell them that.”

Doug just looked at him over the table, that focussed stare that Ross had been trying to copy for years. “Don’t let them.”

“Okay.”

Doug was in hospital, when the 13-14 season started, and Ross skated out at the head of the pack with the number 1 on his back. He’s worn it ever since.

_  
_

That season was a wash, yet again, as Ross tried too hard to be Doug, sharing the net with a guy who’d come in expecting to take the starting spot. They split the games pretty much evenly, in the end, and they both lost more than they won, and Ross hated the tandem every minute of a very long year.

That year brought Max, though, and William, and when the season ended the other goalie was gone and Ross was fighting on through 14-15 with a back-up who just wasn’t ready to leave the bench unless the team were desperate, because nobody else wanted to sign for them.

And then he got Jonny, who has never once come to Ross for advice, who just watches him in the net and then goes out on the ice and does it his own way.

_  
_

*

_  
_

“I’m going to see who’s ready.” Devon puts the last of the empty trays from the dishwasher back on the correct shelf. “You coming?”

Ross shrugs. “Okay.”

Devon means that he’s going to see who’s got their stuff together and is ready to kill some time with whatever video game they’re all trying to beat each other at this week. Last time Ross checked they’d got some kind of virtual golf tournament going on, but whether it’s golf clubs or guns he’s not really interested. Video games aren’t really his thing.

_  
_

He ends up perched on one of the sofas while Devon obliterates Ifan at the golf game, which is apparently still ongoing. Ifan invited him to play, safe in the knowledge that Ross doesn’t want to but still including him by making the offer.

“Has anybody seen Dad?” One of the twins comes into the room, clutching a sketchbook.

“Nope.” Ifan sits back while Devon takes his shot. “Anything we can help with?”

“Probably not.” The twin sighs. Ross will probably never be able to tell them apart. “I’m stuck on my art homework and he said he’d help.”

“What are you trying to do?” Ifan’s not going to be any help, even his play diagrams need work. Ross doesn’t know why he’s bothered asking.

“Perspectives.” The kid looks a bit stressed. “I get, like, half of it, and then it goes wrong.”

“Let’s have a look.” Ross holds his hand out for the sketchbook and everybody looks at him.

“I don’t want to interrupt.” The twins play hockey, they get the whole _don’t bother the goalie_ thing.

Ross gestures for the sketchbook again. “Show me what you’ve got.”

“Okay.” The kid comes to sit next to him, shyly offering the book which is open to a page covered in unsuccessful attempts.

“Have you got your pencils?”

“Yeah.” He offers them to Ross, and Ross tries not to wince at the chewed ends as he selects the most appropriate one.

“Okay, so-” He looks over what the kid has been trying to draw and then turns to a blank page in the book. “You’re looking at the way buildings disappear into the distance, right?”

The kid nods, shifting closer so that he can see what Ross is doing.

“So, we start with the nearest part, and put it roughly in the middle, and then you need to look at where it... Is it raining?”

“Um. No?” They both look over at the window to check, anyway, and then Ross stands up.

“Okay, let’s do this on the front step so we can look at the drive. Come on.”

He doesn’t listen to the guys in the room as he’s leaving, when the kid pauses before following and Ifan says _go on, Toby_ like he needs to be reassured that it’s okay to go with Ross, but he does glance back in the doorway.

“It’ll be easier to explain if we can see it in front of us.”

_  
_

“How did you get to be so good at this?” Toby’s concentrating on his page as he tries to accurately recreate the way the driveway appears to get narrower as it gets closer to the gate.

“I’ve always liked it. My mum’s really artistic.”

“My mum’s not.” Toby sounds vaguely disappointed. “Her craft projects were never very good.”

Ross can’t imagine capable Felicity not being good at anything.

“Do you mean that she wouldn’t do them for you?”

Toby snorts. “Yeah.”

“My mum wouldn’t do mine for me either. She said I had to do it myself if I wanted to learn. It takes practice, just like everything else.”

“Do you still have to practice? Like you never stop training for hockey?”

“Yeah. I mean, I do it for work, so it’s not like I ever stop, but then I draw a lot of the same things.”

“Like what?”

“Like jewellery, mostly.” Ross turns over the page that they’d torn out of Toby’s sketchbook, the one that’s got Ross’s perspective drawings on, and sketches out a ring on the back. It’s part of a set that he’s designing at work, and he’s drawn minute variations on the same thing for what feels like weeks.

“That’s so cool.” Toby looks over at what Ross is doing. “You do that so fast!”

Ross shrugs. “I do it a lot.” It’s all he does, hockey and work. Netminding and jewellery design.

“Still cool, though.”

Ross has never been called cool by a twelve year old when he’s out of his hockey gear.

_  
_

*

_  
_

They’ve beaten the Griffins more than they’ve lost to them on home ice this year, but after last night’s game they all know that that doesn’t mean anything.

This is important, tonight. If they lose, they’re out.

If they win, and the Blizzard beat the Scorpions, then the whole thing comes down to goal difference and it all depends on the scores as much as the results.

Ross needs to keep The Puck out of his net. Nothing new, there, nothing different.

_  
_

The ice has been cut. Ross scores his crease the right way. Jan’s at the dot, Vince to the right, William to the left. Ethan and Scott circle past Ross and tap on his pads.

 _Focus_.

_  
_

It all fades away, beyond the bars of his mask. It’s just three periods of hockey. Ross has to play three periods of hockey to the very best of his ability, and at the end of that the world can come back and he’ll find out what happens next.

_  
_

*

_  
_

The final buzzer signals an immediate celebration winning the last home game of the year in front of their fans, but there’s a tension in the air as they wait for the results to come in from other games and seal their fate.

Ross leaves his glove and blocker on top of the net and joins the handshake line, meeting the eyes of every guy on the ice just once, teammates, opponents, officials, before he retreats to the Huskies’ end of the ice and works automatically through his stretches.

_  
_

**_There’s a minute and a half still to play in Leicester._ ** Tom’s announcement is delivered with unnecessary gravity. He’s got deliberately tension-building music playing underneath, ripped from some reality show. **_And the score is tied at four-four. If the Blizzard win this in regulation, every team in Group A will have six points and the semi-finalists will be decided on goal difference. If the Scorpions win, they go top of the table, and if they get to overtime then they still go top of the table. If the Blizzard win in overtime, we have a three way tie for second place to be decided on goal difference, and if the Scorpions win we have a two-way tie for second place. As we speak, I have a team of mathematicians frantically working on the scores…_ **

He’s exaggerating, of course. Somebody’s working it out on their fingers. It’s probably Dad.

**_As of this moment, over the course of the quarter finals, the Blizzard have conceded nineteen goals. The Scorpions have conceded seventeen. The Griffins have conceded thirteen, and Ross Prince in the Huskies net has conceded just twelve goals._ **

There’s a round of applause and cheering as the Huskies fans make the connections, and Tom comes back on the microphone to explain it.

**_That means that if the Blizzard win in regulation tonight - thirty eight seconds to go on our last check - then the Huskies will go top of the table and the Griffins are coming with us to the semi finals._ **

Ross doesn’t look at the players at the other end of the ice, hanging their hopes on a game that’s out of their control, or their desperate fans.

**_And if the Scorpions get even one point, they go top and the Huskies finish second. Either way, ladies, gentlemen and the block J rabble, we are going to the semi finals!_ **

Ross didn’t think it was possible for the fans to get louder, but it appears that he was wrong, and then there are gloves everywhere and somebody’s trying to pick him up.

“We did it!” That’s Ifan yelling in his ear, the accent’s a giveaway. “You did it, Ross!”

Ross is wearing a lot of padding, and it only takes seconds to decide that it’s safer to let the guys pile in on top of him than it is to let them try to lift him.

 _“Miluji tě!”_ Petr kisses his helmet as he crashes into the celebration. “Least goals against, and we win!”

Tucker and Fish come slamming in, and Ross is careful how he folds, landing on the ice on his own terms with a legitimate concern that people will be swan-diving onto the pile.

Maybe this is only the quarter finals, maybe there are two more must-win games before there’s anything to officially celebrate, but he’s been on this team for eight years and he’s going to enjoy the moment when they stopped being a laughing stock and became contenders.

“You okay in there?” Jonny hasn’t joined the pile, but he’s kneeling down and looking between bodies to make sure that Ross is okay. “Don’t suffocate him guys, we need him next weekend!”

There’s a fresh roar of joy from somebody at the reminder that there’s a _next weekend_ still to play, but the guys shift enough to let Ross crawl free. Some of the fans cheer as Jonny helps him up, and Ross raises an arm to let them know that he _can_ hear them, he does know that they’re there.

“Hey, well done.” Jonny thumps him on the shoulder and Ross doesn’t even feel it. “You got them here. It came down to goals against and that’s you, man.”

“And the defense.” Ross isn’t taking credit that’s not his.

“Take the moment!” Jonny laughs, and it feels like Ross is in on the joke even if he doesn’t know what it is, exactly.

He turns on the spot, taking in the rows and rows of standing fans, the Griffins skating slowly out to their dressing room with the news of a Scorpions win crushing their playoff dreams for this year, his own team working their way through the case of beers that was technically Fish’s man-of-the-match prize but has been emptied already, his dad standing by the boards still clapping.

Jonny slings an arm around him and pushes him towards the rest of the guys. It’s never been a secret that he doesn’t like Ross, much, but in this moment they’re team and they’re in it together.

“Fisher!” Fish looks up at Jonny’s shout. “Give Ross a beer!”


	44. Draft Class of 2025

“Alfie! Dylan! Time to come in!”

Dinner’s not actually ready yet, but Tia’s well aware that it will take the boys at least fifteen minutes to finish whatever the current move is in the complicated game they're inventing, pick up the stuff they're using to play it, come indoors, wash their hands and get themselves sat down at the table like civilised human beings.

Well. As close to civilised human beings as two ten year old boys can get. Lisa says that they're exactly the same at her house, when Alfie goes over to play with Dylan after school.

The boys have been inseparable since halfway through Year 4, when Mrs Henderson switched the seating around in class 4H and put them together. They're starting secondary school in September, and Tia and Lisa both have their fingers crossed that they end up in the same class.

 

“Alfie!”

This time Alfie glances up and waves to show that he’s heard her, so Tia gives them the benefit of the doubt and lets them carry on.

Alfie’s poised in front of the net from the mini football set they bought him years ago. It’s way too small relative to his size to be of any interest as a football net these days, but the boys have repurposed it for their new love.

Ice hockey.

The school were offered discounted tickets to a hockey match, way back in about November, and opened it to the kids in Years 5 and 6. Alfie and Dylan went, and came home raving about the sport, begging to be allowed to go again. Mike took them to a game two weeks later, and now he’s almost as obsessed as the boys.

Tia and Joseph took them one week, and Lisa’s been to a couple of games too, but none of them are as keen on the game as Dylan’s dad is, so it’s usually Mike who takes them.

 

Tia glances out of the window to make sure that the boys are tidying up ready to come in. Alfie’s picked up the net by backing into it and standing up so that it’s balanced on his shoulders - it’s not very heavy, and she smiles at how silly he looks. Dylan’s started collecting up the empty plant pots that they’ve got scattered over the patio.

They’d seen some videos of practice drills on the internet, and haven’t let their lack of ice, pucks or any other actual training equipment stop them from recreating them. They’ve got one stick, which Alfie had brought home from a hockey match in high spirits. Mike had explained that when the team’s sticks got broken, they sometimes sawed them down and sold them cheap to kids, and he’d managed to get in quick when he’d seen that there were two available one night.

The other one is at Dylan’s house, so they can play this game no matter where they go after school.

They’ve been taking it in turns to dribble a tennis ball around an increasingly complicated obstacle course, and then trying to score on each other. Whoever ends up in the net doesn’t have a stick, because they’ve only got one at each house, but Alfie’s got an old baseball glove that Joseph dug out of the loft and they’re getting quite good at catching the ball when the other one shoots at the net.

They both asked for skating lessons for Christmas, and Lisa and Tia agreed with each other that if both boys were going, they’d be more likely to stick at it and it was worth paying for a block of lessons. It wouldn’t be entirely accurate to say that they were  _ good _ at it, but they’ve both made enough progress that Tia and Lisa have been able to sign them up for a beginners ice hockey week over the Easter holidays. 

Alfie’s got it marked on the calendar in the kitchen, and he’s impatiently crossing the days off each evening.

 

“Five minutes, boys.” Tia warns as they clatter in through the kitchen and into the downstairs bathroom to wash their hands. So far, they’re right on schedule.

“I don’t think we’re  _ that _ dirty.” Dylan’s protesting to Alfie as the tap starts. “And it’s not like we’re eating with our hands.”

“It shows on you, though.” Alfie points out, and Tia suppresses a smile. The boys so rarely seem to notice the difference in their skin colour. “You’ve got mud all over-”

“Why do you wash your hands, if it doesn’t show on you?” Dylan obviously doesn’t realise that Tia can hear them. “You could just say that you did.”

“Mum’ll know.” Alfie sounds resigned, and Tia grins to herself. “Mum always knows.”

 

“This smells really nice.” Dylan carefully takes the plate that Tia gives him to carry over to the table. “Thank you.”

She’d been worried, when Alfie got to the age where he starting having tea at his friends’ houses, that she’d find herself cooking fish fingers and chicken nuggets for fussy children who’d never eaten anything that didn’t come out of a box from the frozen food aisle. She’d had a backup plan for the first time Dylan came over - she’d checked his allergies and preferences with Lisa, and Lisa had assured her that Dylan would try anything, but she’d had a pizza waiting in the fridge and the oven already pre-heating just in case when they sat down to a meal that was less spicy than she would normally have cooked.

Lisa told her, later on when they’d become friends themselves, how Dylan had talked about that meal for weeks afterwards. “Apparently everything else is boring now.” Lisa had laughed. “He likes eating at your house because he gets to try different things.” Lisa’s quite happy to have her own dinners dismissed as boring, because it’s also an established fact at school that nobody else’s mum can make cakes as good as the ones that Dylan’s mum makes. 

 

After tea, Tia lets the boys hook the laptop up to the TV so they can watch the highlights from the NHL games - even though they both dismiss the top professional games as not being as good as the local teams they can see live.

They’d helped her to load the dishwasher before she let them watch TV, but the kitchen still looks like there’s been some kind of catastrophic weather event. Tia collects up the scattered items and starts the process of figuring out whose is what.

It doesn’t help that the boys have so many similar items of clothing. Their school uniform jumpers are the easiest to separate, despite being identical, because at least they have name tapes in. Then there’s a  _ Huskies _ hoody, which Tia’s pretty sure is the one that Alfie bought with his Christmas money and not the one that Dylan saved his pocket money for, and a  _ Huskies _ scarf which she knows is Dylan’s from the position of the hot chocolate stain. Alfie’s got the same scarf, and he also spilt hot chocolate on his, but the mark on Dylan’s is bigger and closer to the end of the scarf.

There’s also a tie, which isn’t in school colours and must be Joseph’s, a clean black sock which must have been dropped when somebody was putting the laundry away (that could be anybody’s), and yet another puck.

Tia’s been finding pucks everywhere for months now. The boys get hold of battered old pucks at matches, when the players hit them too hard during warm-up and they leave the ice. They’ve also been buying new pucks with stickers on, the team logo and occasionally one with a player’s picture. Tia’s considering trying to ban them from getting any more - there’s really a limit to how many she needs in the house - although she’s realistic enough to know that that would be a waste of breath. Maybe she can gather the used ones up and sneak them back to the team, they must be running out of warm-up pucks at the rate her son’s bringing them home.

Tia sets Dylan’s scarf by the front door ready for when Lisa or Mike picks him up in about half an hour, and piles the rest of the things at the bottom of the stairs in the vain hope that her husband or son will take them upstairs instead of just walking right past.

There’s a groan from the living room, and Tia pops her head around the door to check that nobody’s hurt. The boys don’t look up from  _ Top Ten Hardest Hits _ or whatever it is that they’re watching, and Tia reminds herself that at least her son wants to be violent while wearing protective gear in a supervised environment and not while hanging out in badly lit car parks or something.

“That was so cool!”

Tia’s not sure she agrees with Alfie, but as his mother her opinion is not really wanted.


	45. WAGs

“I’ll have to take my car for the kids, obviously.” Felicity taps her pen, a shimmery green recently rescued from Maisie’s schoolbag, absently against the table. “But we can take one more if somebody doesn’t mind putting up with over-excited squabbling.”

“I don’t mind either way.” Andi opens and closes the ceramic jars on the counter until she finds the teabags, perfectly at home in Felicity’s kitchen. “I can drive or I can jump in somebody else’s car, whatever we need.”

“I can’t drive.” Soňa points out what they all knew anyway. “And Katja doesn’t have a car, so we both need a place. I think Leah and Jo are both planning to drive anyway?”

“Okay.” Felicity makes notes. “So, we’ve got… me and the kids, that’s four. You two, Katja and Leah, that’s eight. Jo, Stan, Alec, Casey and Guillermo, that’s..”

“Thirteen.” Soňa interjects.

“Thanks. Thirteen. Plus Rebecca? Is she travelling with us?”

“Ethan’s Rebecca?” Soňa frowns. Felicity nods - she didn’t think they knew any other Rebeccas who might be carpooling with them to Coventry.

“Plus Rebecca.” Andi confirms, pouring hot water into the mugs. “So fourteen.”

“We can do that in three cars, then.” Felicity makes a couple more notes. “If Leah, Jo and I all drive, Maisie needs to come with me because she has to have the car seat, but I can trade the boys out if it makes them quieter.”

“When do we need to leave?” Andi carries the tea over to the table. “What time do the doors open?”

“Faceoff for the first game is one o’clock. They’ll let us in from twelve but we should get there early because the queue will be massive and we want to be in by warm-up.”

“So we need to leave here about… half past ten?”

“Sounds about right.” Felicity writes _ten-thirty_ under the list of potential car-shares, and caps the pen.

Andi pulls out a chair and sits down, helping herself to a biscuit. “The banner’s going to be ready to pick up on Thursday, and the t-shirts are here.” She nods to the box that’s sitting on one of the unoccupied chairs. “I had a quick look when they delivered them, they look okay.”

“Can I?” Soňa reaches for the box.

“Of course, yes!”

Soňa unfolds the flaps and pulls out the first shirt, shaking it out to have a good look. The shirt is black, with the Huskies pawprint in red over the left breast. On the back, it’s printed with a 25 and _Davies_ curling over the number.

“This must be yours, then!” She passes it over to Andi and delves back in. Andi pulls the shirt on over her clothes.

“The sizing seems to have come out okay. If it’s cold they’ll all fit over a long sleeved tee.”

“Howard.” Soňa passes a shirt to Felicity. “And again. And again. And…. again.” She passes over Felicity’s shirt and three smaller ones for the twins and Maisie, all with Scott’s 34 on the back.

 _“Veselá.”_ She sets that one aside. “For Katja. And Roberts, for Rebecca.”

“There’s ones in there for Leah and Jo, too.” Andi sips her tea. “I wasn’t sure if Leah was going to be down on the bench in team gear, but I thought she should have the choice.”

“What name did you get?” Felicity grins. “I can imagine the guys would get a bit territorial over that!”

“I got her own name.” Andi laughs. “I’m not going there! Leah and Jo both have their own surnames on the back.”

Soňa’s still digging through the box. _“Tkáčová!”_ She holds up the shirt in triumph. “Found it!”

“Is that the lot?” Felicity sets the Howard shirts aside, draped over the back of a chair, and reaches for the box. “There’s more in here.”

Andi starts to laugh. “I think that’s just one, actually.”

“No, there’s a lot…” Felicity trails off as she pulls at the fabric and realises that she’s holding one huge shirt. “What on earth…?”

Soňa’s started to giggle from the other side of the box, where she can see what’s written on the back of the shirt. Felicity stands up so that she can shake it out, laying it across the top of the box for easier reading.

“Hector, ten.” She frowns, and then it clicks. “Andi, is this for _Snowy_?”

Andi shrugs. “Dan said he’d wear it during our games, as the Blizzard aren’t playing.”

Felicity sits down, still looking at the shirt. “I love it.” She shakes her head. “It’s crazy, but I love it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter will be out later in the week...


	46. Stan Harfield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I get a bit emotional on re-reading this. There's nothing that I think needs to be warned for, just be aware if you like to read in public...

One of the things about getting old is that Stan doesn’t sleep well at night any more. His bladder insists that he gets up by half past six every morning, and then it’s useless trying to go back to bed.

He ends up snoozing in the chair most afternoons, but that’s just normal for a man of his age - and it’s not like the guys on the team don’t take naps when they get the chance.

Today’s a busy day, though, so Stan takes advantage of his built in wake up call and is in the kitchen looking for breakfast by half past seven.

“No Mark this morning?”

“I’ve given him the day off.” Roberto pours coffee into a travel mug, adds milk and fits the lid on before setting it on the counter in front of Stan. “Busy weekend for them all.”

Stan grins. “It is indeed.”

He bought this team to stop them from disappearing. He never dreamed that they’d get to- well, he dreamed that they could win the whole thing, but that’s all it was, a dream. He never expected them to actually make it to the semi-finals in their first year, and yet here they are, ready to head up to Coventry tomorrow and try for the perfect ending to their fairytale.

“Petr’s taken the cereals through.”

“Thanks.” Stan picks up his coffee. He doesn’t usually want much more than a bowl of cornflakes first thing in the morning, and the first guys to get to breakfast usually take that stuff through to the dining room. It’s not just for his benefit, he’s pretty sure, but it does make life easier if all he has to carry is his coffee.

A lot of the guys use the travel mugs in the morning, so they can take their coffee with them as they start their days. Stan’s not going any further than the dining room, but the lid on his mug is really useful on his wobblier days.

Today’s not a wobbly day, though, and Stan whistles as he strolls through to breakfast.

 

“Morning!” Casey’s on his own at the table, toast in hand. “You’re up early!”

“Busy day today!”

“Anything I can help with?”

Stan’s about to wave off his offer when he remembers that it’s Casey’s job to help out, and he’s keen to put in some hours while he’s here to save his vacation days.

“Actually, maybe you can. You’re a listed driver on that car Jo’s hired, aren’t you?”

“Mm-hm.” Casey responds through his toast, adding a nod to underline his agreement.

“I’ve got some errands I need to run this morning, I might ask you to be my driver if Jo can spare you.”

Casey chews and swallows. “Sure.”

Well. That’s going to be easier than getting taxis, for sure.

 

Stan forgets, sometimes, that Casey is Jo’s assistant, that he’s her employee and by extension, Stan’s employee.

Jo hired Casey during those bleak months following Valerie’s death, when Stan was trying to keep himself busy with simple tasks and, in hindsight, making a whole mess of work for other people to clear up. When the fog started to recede, and Stan realised that the string of temps who’d been following behind him with varying levels of competence and subtlety had resolved into one polite Canadian boy, he’d taken the first steps back to his old self and he’d taken Casey out for coffee.

Jo hadn’t said a word about Stan stealing her assistant for half a day, possibly because if he wasn’t in the office he wasn’t causing administrative problems that Casey was required to untangle, but mostly because Jo knew that this was Stan trying to be normal.

Stan sat down in Casey’s favourite branch of Tim Horton’s - chosen by Casey because Stan had lost his routine of testing out the newest cafes as soon as they opened - and he’d thought _Valerie would like this boy._

So Casey’s Jo’s employee, and that means that Stan’s his boss, but Casey got to know him as a fellow admin assistant even if he knew perfectly well who Stan was from day one - and he knows him best through Jo who realised years ago that Stan doesn’t want to be treated with false deference. Jo respects him, but she calls him out on his dafter ideas and he loves her for that. Casey’s watched Jo telling Stan what he can and can’t do, and he’s latched on to the understanding that Stan’s just another guy. He may be Stan’s employee, but he’s the kind of employee who will quite happily perch on the desk and tell him long rambling stories about his weekend or show him photographs of his pet chinchilla, and Stan appreciates that there are still people in the world who see him as a friend and not just a boss.

The guys here are great, and it’s been a fresh lease of life to be here and be treated like a hockey player - albeit one who’s moving a little slowly these days. The guys make sure that he’s got help on bad days, that he doesn’t have to carry things or struggle with doors, but they make the rookies do it and it doesn’t feel like they’re looking after the old man, just respecting their most veteran player. They certainly don’t attempt to watch their language around him like they might another man of his generation, and it’s made him feel - well. Not young again, he’s got too many creaks for that, but younger.

Casey fits right in with the boys, to Stan’s relief. He’d been worried that Casey’s, uh, _lifestyle choices_ could make things awkward with the aggressive heterosexuality of the hockey players, forgetting that Alec’s also that way inclined and the boys are quite comfortable around him.

 

“Where’s Guillermo today?” Stan lets Casey open the door to the yard so they can head out and catch up with Leah and Jo.

“Soňa’s stolen him.” Casey doesn’t sound too downhearted about losing his boyfriend. “He’s really interested in her dissertation.”

Jan’s girlfriend is terrifyingly intelligent and studying something to do with high tensile steel. Stan’s impressed but doesn’t understand half of what she’s talking about - his skills have always been logistics and acquisitions. Guillermo’s an engineering graduate, and Soňa’s clearly pleased to have somebody here she can talk to who’s actually interested in the details and not just pretending in order to be polite.

“So we’re stuck with you instead, then?”

“Yup.” Casey grins at him. “I’m here to assist, as per the job title.”

 

Jo doesn’t really need her assistant for a meeting with the building company who converted half the stable block into apartments and fitted out the gym for them last summer, but Casey’s there anyway as they walk around the site with Dale the architect. He likes to know what’s going on, and Stan thinks that’s an admirable quality. Stan would have spent his career in the post room, and Jo in the rank and file of the finance department, if they weren’t the sort of people who asked questions.

“We’ve been using this part of the building for things like storing and maintenance of the garden machinery,” Leah’s explaining for Casey’s benefit,  “but that’s all going to go out into the barn and we’re turning this into more accommodation.”

“More rooms for players?”

“Sort of. We’ve actually got enough rooms, given that we’re always going to have a few local guys who don’t need or want to live in, but we wanted to be able to offer a bit more privacy for older guys. So we’re putting in another flat, on the... ground floor?” She checks with Dale as she speaks. “Two bedrooms, so we could fit in a married couple with a kid, for example. And then upstairs we’re going to have… Four? Three?”

“Four.” Dale confirms.

“Four guest bedrooms. So that when people want to have family visit for a night or two, there’s somewhere to go, and guests don’t have to be right in with the boys.”

Casey’s shrug and grin says that he completely understands that, even if he personally has no objection to sharing with the team.

“If we have more than one player who needs a flat rather than a room,” Jo adds, “I can take a guest room. I don’t really need to have a flat here, it’s just nice to have the privacy.”

 

It doesn't take too long to finish the walk-round and inspect Dale’s drawings, and then Stan leaves Jo and Leah to talk about the money and gets Casey to drive him down to the town.

 

His first appointment is at the doctor’s surgery.

“Just a check-up,” he reassures Casey, who hadn’t asked, “routine maintenance.”

“Would you like me to wait in the car?”

“Uh… Might take a while. Good old National Health Service, the appointment times are really just a guideline. And the next thing I need to do is just around the corner, so…” Stan thinks. “You’d have time to go back up to the Hall, if you want, because it’s going to be at least an hour, probably an hour and a half, maybe longer, before I need to be driven anywhere else. Or, if you want, there are a couple of nice little coffee shops in the town - no Timmies, I’m afraid - and since you’re officially waiting for me it’s working time and the cost of the coffees comes out of my pocket. Is your phone charged?”

“Yes.” Casey pats his pocket. “And I have my charger and the adapter, so if I’m waiting somewhere I can probably pick up a charge.”

“Okay then.” Stan spent so many years carrying a briefcase that he’s never felt entirely comfortable with just his pockets. Valerie bought him the leather messenger bag for Christmas a few years ago, and he tends to carry it with the strap across his chest like he’s a third his age, leaving his hands free for his walking stick. He pulls his wallet out of the bag and extracts a twenty pound note. “You can drop me right by the door here, and then if you head into town you can park at Sainsbury’s - that’s the supermarket, very big, bright orange, can’t miss it - and find yourself a coffee. I’ll call you when I’m done with my next appointment, and you can come and collect me.”

“Okay.” Casey puts the car back into gear and drives them across the car park to the drop off point just outside the surgery doors. His driving’s remarkably confident for somebody who’s used to having the controls on the other side of the vehicle and the traffic on the other side of the road.

“Thank you.” Stan doesn’t actually need Casey to leap out of the car and open the door for him, but it’s a nice touch. “I’ll call you in a bit. Don’t worry if it gets to two hours and you haven’t heard.”

“Yes boss.” Casey pulls off an extremely wobbly salute and Stan taps him with the walking stick.

“I’ll see you later.”

 

The doctor’s appointment is routine, just as he told Casey, just a check-up for his repeat prescriptions and the usual confirmation that he’s in pretty good shape for a man of his age with an artificial hip. They saw him bang on time, just like usual, buying him time to have his next meeting without Casey realising how long it’s taken, and Stan whistles as he leaves the surgery and presses the button for the pedestrian crossing.

“You’re in a good mood this morning!”

He doesn’t know the lady who’s edging towards the surgery doors with her walking frame, but he smiles at her anyway. “It’s a nice morning!”

The lights change, and he crosses the road, turning right and walking the short distance to the offices of _Johnson, Bell & Cartwright_. The door’s heavy, old fashioned wood, but it swings open on well-maintained hinges and the receptionist smiles at him.

“Good morning, Mr Harfield.”

Stan was here last week, so it’s not quite as impressive that she remembers him, but it’s still good customer service. This is the firm that handled Arthur’s legal business, and their father’s legal business, and Stan’s pretty sure that his grandfather’s affairs were managed by the original Mr Johnson. Stan’s always used them for the legal work for the English side of his business, especially since inheriting the Hall.

“Good morning, Rosalind.” She’s not the only one who can remember names. Rosalind smiles at him.

“Take a seat, Mr Harfield. I’ll let Mr Cartwright know that you’re here.”

 

Timothy Cartwright is in his fifties, hair fading to grey, and he’s the kind of man who exudes a calm confidence with everything he does. Stan’s never been the sort to suffer fools, and he’s perfectly happy to leave his important business in Cartwright’s capable hands.

“So.” Cartwright produces a slim cardboard folder, once the usual pleasantries have been dispensed with. “You want to update your will.”

“That’s right.”

The folder contains two printed copies of Stan’s current will, which has been sent over from his Canadian solicitors and which Cartwright will have read in preparation for this meeting.

“Well, that shouldn’t be too complicated!” Cartwright straightens the pad of lined paper that’s sitting in front of him, and picks up his heavy silver pen. “What are the main changes you’d like to make?”

“At the point when I wrote my previous will, my business interests were almost entirely based in Canada.” Stan explains. “I made some updates when my wife passed away, but the main intention was always that the business interests would pass to my nephew and great-nephews.”

Cartwright doesn’t note any of that down.

“However, over the last year or so, my business interests have shifted back to the UK and I think it’s important that my will reflects that. I still intend for the Canadian part of my portfolio to go to my nephew and his sons, but I have other plans for my English interests.”

“I see that your company has an English-registered subsidiary?” Cartwright’s done his homework.

“That’s right. Harfield Holdings is registered in Canada, but Harfield Holdings UK is, as the name suggests, registered here.”

“And do you intend for the split in your will to reflect that division of interests?”

“Exactly!” Stan smiles at Cartwright, and Cartwright smiles back. He’s too professional to show his personal opinion, but it does make it a lot simpler that Stan has already clearly divided his business interests by region.

Cartwright has now started to make notes.

“The Canadian part of my estate - the Canadian-registered part of Harfield Holdings and the property I own in Canada - is to be split as before, with fifty percent going to my nephew Gregory, and twenty-five percent each going to his sons Elias and Felix.” He pauses. “We can lose any previous clauses about trusts, as they’re both in their twenties now. I still think of them as little boys who only come into the office when there’s no school, but Elias is working for the company now and Felix is at university.”

Cartwright smiles sympathetically. “My son’s getting married this summer. I still can’t quite believe that he’s old enough.” He nods to the picture of a young man who looks a lot like Cartwright, holding a toddler on his lap. “They had the baby first, it made me feel very old fashioned.”

Stan laughs. “I only spent two nights with my wife before we got married, and we had to sneak away for those!” He smiles at the memory of checking into a tiny hotel with Valerie wearing her grandmother’s wedding ring against her engagement band, and then clears his throat and brings himself back to the present. “Harfield Holdings UK covers all of my English assets, including my home.”

“Ah yes, the Hall.” Cartwright handled Arthur’s will, and later the closure of the conference centre business.

“That’s all registered to the company.” Stan explains. “I don’t have anything else, I don’t have any other property, just some personal possessions.”

Cartwright has small, neat handwriting that means his notes will be perfectly legible, but Stan can’t read them upside down.

“I want to leave Harfield Holdings UK on a forty-sixty split between my business manager, Joanna Zhang, and Leah Everett.”

“I understand that Ms Zhang manages your Canadian business interests?” Cartwright looks up from his notes.

“Is that an issue?”

“Not necessarily. However, there could be some dispute in the future if the Canadian beneficiaries felt that Canadian assets had been sold off and moved to the UK portfolio to increase Ms Zhang’s share of the inheritance.”

“I see.” Stan thinks for a moment. “I had intended to offer the opportunity for Elias or Felix to work for Harfield Canada for a few years, the family business probably won’t have room for both of them just yet. That should help, if they’re involved in the decisions and they can see that Jo’s not moving money away from them. I’m not intending to step back just yet, I want to increase the UK side a little to better support the hockey team, but I’m not going to meddle forever and according to my doctor just this morning, I’m all set to hang around for a while longer!”

Cartwright smiles. “That’s excellent news.”

“So, that’s the business part of it. I’ve also got a certain amount of money in various places, and that needs to be gathered up when the time comes and handled centrally.” Stan’s come across unnecessarily complex estates before. “So that there’s no issue with money moving from Canadian to British accounts or vice versa and any argument about where the money should have been at the point of my unfortunate passing, etcetera etcetera.” He waves a hand to express his lack of concern over the exact amount of distress that should be experienced when he dies. “I’m expecting my personal funds to gradually end up on this side of the Atlantic, as I work through consolidating my savings and my stocks.”

Cartwright nods. “Do you have a full list of financial accounts?”

“Jo keeps all that. She doesn’t have access to my personal accounts, but she knows where they are. She’ll have the up to date details when the time comes, and if that changes then I’ll let you know.”

“And how do you want your personal items distributed?”

Stan pulls an A4 envelope out of his bag. The pages inside are handwritten.

“I apologise that my handwriting’s not as clear as yours, but I am surrounded by helpful young people who would happily insist on typing up anything I need should they spot me trying to use the computer, and would never even consider that I might want to write something that nobody else was to read.”

“I’m sure it’ll be no trouble.” Cartwright takes the pages and scans through the list of names and amounts. “I’ll have one of the secretaries type this up for you to double check.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.”

“These are all specific amounts,” Cartwright confirms, looking over the list again. “Where do you want the balance of anything remaining in the estate to go?”

“To Leah.”

“Miss Everett?” Cartwright checks back in his notes, and Stan nods.

“Yes, that’s right. She’s...” It’s funny, they avoided talking about it for so long, even after it was legal, and now it’s hard to get the words in the right order. “Arthur. My brother Arthur’s lover was Leah’s great uncle, and her father was my brother’s godson. She should have been my brother’s great niece, only it wasn’t legal for him to marry.”

Cartwright nods as if that all makes perfect sense, calm as if it isn’t the first time that Stan’s ever mentioned his family’s scandal to anybody other than Valerie. “Okay.” He scans over the page of notes in front of him, and then leafs through the copy of Stan’s previous will. “I think that’s everything covered - Canadian business assets to be bequeathed in Canada, British business assets to be bequeathed here, all personal assets in any country to be handled through this office. Certain specific items, including two paintings, an antique desk and a number of sums of money to be distributed as per this list,” he taps Stan’s handwritten sheets, “and any other remaining personal assets to go to Ms Leah Everett.”

Stan follows along as he speaks, pulse settling back to normal after his big revelation was received so calmly. “Yes, that sounds right.”

“Well then, if you’d like to look this over briefly- ” he passes his own notes to Stan. “I will have that photocopied and you can sign it as an interim record, and we’ll have the formal document written up and ready to be signed and witnessed next week. How many copies will you want?”

“Three.” Stan doesn’t look up from Cartwright’s notes, which are easy to read now that the page is the right way up. “One to be kept here, one I’ll have at home, and one to be lodged with my solicitors in Toronto. This looks right.” He hands the page back across, and Cartwright presses a button to connect to his secretary.

“Angela, could you pop in for a moment, please?”

“I’ll be right in.”

 

Stan feels bright, leaving the solicitor’s offices. He’s got every intention of being around for a number of years yet, but he’s always liked to have things in order and he wants to make sure that his hockey team stays with people who care about it. He couldn’t think of a better combination than Leah and Jo to look after the team into the future, and if Valerie’s nephew and his family get the Canadian side of things, it’s only right that Leah gets Arthur’s legacy.

He’s told Casey to pick him up from in front of Boots. Casey’s not going to share where they’ve been, unless perhaps Jo asks him direct, and if he assumes that Stan’s just been picking up his prescription then Stan won’t correct him. He doesn’t like it when anybody knows he’s going to the doctor’s because he doesn’t want them to think of him as old and frail, and he’s certainly got no intention of letting anybody know that he’s been updating his will in case they assume that he’s planning to shuffle off in the near future, which is about as far from the truth as they can get.

 

*

 

The Hall is far too quiet when Stan ambles across the yard after his post-lunch snooze. None of the boys are working today, and it’s far enough through the afternoon that the younger lads and Scott’s children should all be back from school and college.

Everybody’s hyped for the weekend - it should not be this quiet.

 

“Where is everybody?”

Roberto, at least, is where he’s supposed to be.

“Outside.” Roberto continues slicing through a huge piece of meat at a speed that makes Stan a little nervous on behalf of Roberto’s fingers. “Felicity decided that everybody was getting over-excited.”

 

Stan can see flashes of activity through the windows by the front door, and then the sound comes flooding in as he pulls the door open.

It looks a bit like whatever that ridiculous game is that they like to play with Ester in the ballroom, the one that involves a whole bag of tennis balls and will probably eventually lead to a broken window.

They’ve adapted it for the rolling space of the front lawns by spreading out, and since there are no walls to stop the balls they’ve got one of the twins on each side chasing down anything that goes too far.

He’s expecting to see most of the team playing, but it looks like they’ve got everybody, even Max. Even Felicity’s out there in the thick of it all, and it’s not until Stan picks out the Canadian accents in the general cacophony that he realises they’ve even persuaded _Jo_ to play.

Jo’s the first one to spot him standing on the steps, and when she takes a hit to her arm she drops out of the game and jogs over to join him.

“I am way too old to be playing physical games with professional athletes!” She sits down on the top step, slightly out of breath.

“You don’t look like you were doing too badly.” Stan considers sitting down with her, but has to accept that he’ll struggle to stand up again.

“I don’t think my gym workouts are cutting it anymore.” Jo squints up at him. “I’m going to be forty in a few months, and that lot are making me feel my age.”

“Tell me about it.” Forty’s a very long time ago, for Stan. “Why is Maisie standing on a chair?”

“She’s refereeing.”

“Somebody gave her a whistle?” That doesn’t sound like the best idea.

“No!” Jo laughs. “I don’t think we could handle that. Her voice is loud enough.”

“OFFSIDE!” Right on cue, Maisie’s voice floats over the rest of them, and half of the guys stop to protest.

“How can anybody be offside?” Stan looks down at Jo “There aren’t any lines!”

“She’s making it up as she goes along, but her word is final.”

“Just like a real ref, then!”

Jo laughs. “Pretty much.” She pushes herself to her feet. “Let’s go in, I need a glass of water.”

 

*

 

William’s called a team dinner for tonight, since they’ll be on the road first thing in the morning.

Felicity’s herded her protesting children back to the gatehouse. Casey and Guillermo have taken themselves out for dinner, making the most of their vacation time. Soňa’s the only one left who doesn’t live locally, and she’s apparently been invited to eat with Roberto this evening, so it’s just the team who sit down around the big table.

Not that that makes them any quieter.

It means a lot to Stan, although he’s never said, that they always save him the seat at the head of the table. He’s not the manager of this team, or the coach or the captain, he’s just the guy with the money, but they save him the spot that used to be his father’s when Stan was little and this was his family home.

Father always sat at the head of the table in the heavy carver chair that’s been here since _his_ father was a boy, if not longer. Mother on one side, Arthur and Stan on the other, the far end of the table empty when they ate as a family.

He brought Valerie here, when they got engaged, and she charmed his parents right here at this table.

Arthur never brought any girls home, of course, although Mother never stopped hoping that he’d do the right thing and produce an heir, despite his tastes lying elsewhere. Stan and Valerie tried to give her the grandchildren that Arthur never would, but they were never blessed. The Harfield line will stop with Stan, biologically.

 

“Alright, you lot, shut up for a minute.” Max waits until everybody’s finished eating until he stands up.

“Speech!”

Max rolls his eyes. “Thank you, Vince. That’s what I’m trying to do.”

There’s a general rustle while the guys make a lot of noise about shutting up, but finally every face is turned towards Max.

“They said we weren’t going to get here.” Max tells them. “When I was building this roster, I had three different people actually laugh down the phone at me.” There’s a rumble from the boys at that, and Max cuts them off. “And that’s a good thing. That’s a good thing, because the kind of people who don’t want to play for a team that hasn’t been successful despite trying the best they can, the kind of people who’d dismiss that out of hand without even pretending to hear me out - well. I don’t want guys like that on this team. That’s not what being a Husky is about. Being a Husky is… turning up. Putting the effort in. Caring about the game and caring about your team.”

“When I got the call to say that the team had been bought, I really thought that the writing was still on the wall. A new owner wouldn’t make us better, I thought, we were treading water, losing money, and pretty much the only thing we had left was our refusal to quit. And then Stan called me, once the sale was confirmed, and he told me he had a crazy plan. He wasn’t going to buy me a new team, but he wanted to give me the tools, to give _us_ the tools, to give the team that we’d got the opportunity to do the best they could.” He smiles. “And that sounded like a Huskies way of doing things. Try your best, and don’t give up, and here was a man who wanted to support us in playing our game and doing it our way. And here we are.”

“We had a goal, for this season. We were playing to win, of course we were, of course we _are_ , but as an organisation we said that we would be happy with our progress if we qualified for the playoff quarter finals. And then we qualified. We didn’t win the league, but we qualified. We clinched our spot on the 12th of February when we shut the Cobras out eight-nil.”

There’s a cheer for that, and Max waits for them to settle down.

“So I said to myself, we did what we set out to do and we’ve still got games left to play, and the Huskies don’t stop trying, so let’s make the best possible showing of ourselves as we can in the quarters. Let’s not embarrass ourselves. And now, here we are, getting ready for the semi-finals. There are only two games left to play between us and that trophy.”

The room is quiet as the guys absorb what he’s saying.

“Now, we’re going out there to win. We’re not just along for the ride, the Huskies are here to compete for a title and we’re going to work hard for it every second of ice time that we get. But whatever happens, I wanted to tell you all, each and every one of you, that we did this as a team, you got each other here, and I am so proud of you all. I’m so proud of us, because we proved them wrong, and if I have to make any phone calls this summer then nobody’s going to laugh in my face. So I want to say thank you, for all of your hard work so far and all of the hard work you’ll put in tomorrow and, fingers crossed, Sunday as well. Go Huskies!”

 

When the cheering dies away, everybody turns to look at Stan.

“What?”

“You must have a few words for us, Stan?”

“Well. I…”

He’d expected to have to give a speech at the end of season dinner that Colin Prince is organising for the fans. He’d thought that he might say a few words to the guys after this weekend, when the games are all played, but he wasn’t expecting to be called upon now.

Never mind. He didn’t get this far without thinking on his feet.

“I don’t have a speech planned.” He warns, getting slowly out of his chair. “And I’m going to be cross if I have to use up the jokes that I’m saving for the end of season awards do.”

“That’s okay.” Fisher calls out. “We’re all going to be very drunk by then and we won’t remember if we’ve heard them before!”

Stan favours him with the look he used to save for Michael Thompson, who was far too fond of the sound of his own voice at board meetings.

Fisher shrinks back in his seat, but Stan must be losing his edge because everybody else laughs.

“Okay. I’ll try and keep it brief. Jo will stop me if I ramble.”

“Noted.” Jo’s been keeping a straight face around him for years. Stan rests one hand on the table, not to take his weight but just in case his balance starts to go.

“When I first moved to Canada it was only supposed to be short term, but the puck doesn’t always bounce the way you expect and as my life there unfolded, I never really thought that I’d come back here. This was my brother’s inheritance, not mine, and I never saw myself coming back to rattle around in the big house overlooking the village. But, things don’t always work out the way you planned, and after my wife passed-” his voice still catches on that, dammit, “I didn’t have as much to tie me to Toronto, and Jo thought that if she shipped me off over here to look after the Hall then I’d be out of her way and she could get on with doing her job without an interfering old man looking over her shoulder.”

Jo smiles at him. He’s always known that there was a note of truth in there.

“The trouble is, of course, that Jo couldn’t supervise me as closely from across the Atlantic. And she’s known me long enough, she could have guessed that left to my own devices I was bound to do something reckless, like looking up the hockey team I used to play for all those years ago and realising that they were in desperate need of an old man with too much money and too much time on his hands.”

“This looks like a crazy experiment. Leah, Jo and I sat around the dining room table down in the gatehouse and knocked out a completely mad plan to open a eighteenth century manor house, still with many of its original features, to a team of professional hockey players in the hope that if we were crazy enough the unthinkable might happen and we might just make a difference. And here we are. One year later, there are fourteen hockey players living in my childhood home, and the Huskies have made it to the semi-finals.”

“And like Max said, we’re not done yet. Now, pretty much everything has changed since I last won a trophy with the Huskies, fifty years ago, but the really important stuff stays the same. It’s still the same game on a sheet of ice, with puck and sticks, and it’s a still a game where you can’t give up, no matter how comfortable you feel, because the other guys can come out of nowhere. Back in sixty-seven, we won because we were the best team out on the ice and one of the things that made us the best was that we never knew when to quit. And although the way this game is played has moved on and I couldn’t recognise my old kit in the new-fangled gear you boys wear-”

There’s a laugh for that. Skates are still skates, sticks are still sticks, even if the technology has changed them.

“Although the game has moved on, one of the things that hasn’t changed is a winner’s attitude. The sixty-seven Huskies were winners, and so are you. You’ve beaten the odds and you’ve got yourselves this far.”

“I’m going to copy Max again, because there’s no better way to say it than: I’m so proud of you all. So proud to call you my team, because I’m always going to be a Husky in my heart and you’ve never once made me feel like I’m just an old man getting in the way. And whatever happens tomorrow and Sunday, I know the rest of the sixty-seven team would be just as proud of their legacy as I am.”

“When Valerie was dying, she said to me, Stanley, don’t you give up. Don’t you dare give up just because I’m not here to walk with you. And it’s hard, to walk alone, when you’ve had that person by your side for almost fifty years, because you’re so accustomed to sharing the load that you can’t lift it on your own any more.” He blinks back a tear that’s threatening to escape. “But I don’t have to lift anything on my own. Because I’ve got my team at my back. So thank you.”

He looks around the table, meeting the eyes of anybody who’s looking right back at him, and reaches back for the chair that Jo’s sliding forwards for him, digging his handkerchief out of his pocket as he sits.

He doesn’t see who starts clapping, but they all pick it up, and Stan’s surprised that his hands aren’t shaking as he wipes away the stray eyelash that must be in his eye to make it water like that.

“Nicely said, Uncle Stan.” Leah leans forwards to speak from Max’s other side. “Well done.”

Stan takes a steadying breath and tucks his handkerchief away.

“Now, since I don’t have to get on the ice and play hockey tomorrow, I’m going to have a drink. Jo, Leah, will you join me?”

“That sounds like an excellent idea.” Leah gets to her feet. “I think I can pour a scotch without spoiling it, after a year of your careful tuition. Jo?”

“Yes, please.” Jo’s voice sounds a little less steady than usual, and Stan sometimes forgets when he’s here surrounded by these youngsters that Jo knew Valerie too. He reaches out and pats her arm.

“She would have loved all this.”

“Yeah.” Jo smiles at him. “She really would.”

There’s a pause, and the mood at the table feels a little sombre.

 

“Is it my turn for a speech?” William gets up just as Leah’s finished pouring the drinks. “Since Max and Stan both had a go? I’ll keep it short, I promise.”

Somebody chuckles at that. Stan thinks it’s Ifan.

“So, all that stuff about being proud of us, that’s true. We should be proud of ourselves for getting this far and nobody can take away what we’ve achieved this year. But I just want to say, I’m going out there to win, we’re bringing that trophy home with us on Sunday night, and nobody, not the Pumas, not whoever gets through the other semi-final, nobody’s going to stop us. Because as Max said, and as Stan said, we’re the Huskies, and we do not. Give. Up!”

William sits down to another cheer, and Stan gets back to his feet, raising his glass. Around the table the guys follow suit with the water and pop they’re restricted to until there are no more games to play.

“To the Huskies, and to never giving up!”

_“To the Huskies!”_

**Author's Note:**

> Phew.
> 
> Well.
> 
>  
> 
> I've been working on this story for a ridiculously long time. The idea for a whole team of hockey players living in one house was a joke, years ago, when I first started watching the sport, and I thought it was a story that I'd like to write.
> 
>  
> 
> And then _Back Up There_ happened, when a team turned up to play in our barn without bringing their back-up goalie, and as soon as I started to write those stories I realised that they belonged in the same universe as my Huskies.
> 
>  
> 
> It's taken a long time for the Huskies to get their moment in the limelight. I always thought of them as a soap opera, where there's no leading character and everybody gets their storylines and their moment front and centre.
> 
> Massive, massive thanks to those of you who collaborated along the way, answering vague questions on tumblr, putting forward initial suggestions for what to call the puppy, getting excited for me when I posted snippets.  
> I also want to say thank you to everybody who commented as they read, because I love reading your reactions. I can't answer most of the comments live, because spoilers, but now that we're done please feel free to ask me things either in comments or over on [tumblr.](http://backupthere.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> Huge thanks to Fie, for the artwork that brings these boys to life (if you'd like to see more pictures, [there's a page open raising money and taking prompts for more commissions](http://backupthere.tumblr.com/commissions)) and especially to docbeeski for chasing me through 383 pages of googledocs, cheering me on, pointing out the bits that didn't make sense, and generally getting emotionally invested in figments of my imagination.
> 
>  
> 
> I don't think I'm done with these boys. I've got notes for Season Two already, so we'll see what happens...


End file.
